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JUN/JUL

THE REAL DUA LIPA OPTIMIST, ADVOCATE, POP SENSATION

SIDEWALK TO BOARDWALK summer style every which way

ROMA

June/July 2022 30 Editor’s Letter 34 Contributors 40 Remembrance

Grace Coddington on the late Patrick Demarchelier

46 Nostalgia

To the writer Keith Gessen, Russia was a place of fascination. Now, it feels like a lost country

54 Just Jouez!

Nike teams up with Simon Porte Jacquemus

58 Long Day’s Journey C REATIV E PRO DUCTIO N AN D CASTING : MALAI KA BY N AB IL LAH. P HOTO ASS ISTAN T: N E IL KWESI BAK A R.

The newly opened Kisawa Sanctuary in Mozambique

60 Gem State

Lynn Yaeger pays a call to the stylish Ivy Getty

70 Change Agents

Once a verboten topic, menopause is the wellness focus du jour. By Fiorella Valdesolo

72 Wash and Go Soho House debuts travelready skin care

74 Life, Literature, Love

The best summer fiction

76 The Rebirth of Dua Lipa

Jen Wang speaks to Dua Lipa about being a pop star for serious times

86 Ruling Class

Danai Gurira readies a turn as Richard III. By Chloe Schama

90 Dateline Ukraine More than ever, it is women defining on-theground war reporting. By Michelle Ruiz

96 I Feel Bad About My Knees An oft-overlooked body part is entering the spotlight. By Jancee Dunn

98 In Deep

Model Tindi Mar forages and frolics at home in Mexico

108 Model Behavior What happens on the other side of the camera during Paris Fashion Week?

124 New Horizons Light, bright accessories

136 The Get

Ease into summertime

144 Last Look

Cover Look Precious Metal Dua Lipa wears a Prada dress, top, and shorts. Hair, Evanie Frausto; makeup, Marcelo Gutierrez. Details, see In This Issue. SUMMER INTERLUDE TORY BURCH HAT. PHOTOGRAPHED BY DELALI AYIVI.

Photographer: Tyler Mitchell. Fashion Editor: Jorden Bickham.

VOGUE.COM

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WHERE OCCASIONS RISE TO YOU

TH E ALL- N EW LE XUS L X

What is life’s greatest luxury? The freedom to climb any peak and chase any dream. Introducing the all-new LX 600. With more power and more innovation, you can boldly explore wherever your drive takes you.

Letter From the Editor

World Wise PEOPLE SURPRISE YOU. I was reminded of that universal fact reading this month’s cover profile of Dua Lipa, whose COVID-delayed world tour is confirming her as a dance-pop sensation, but whose offstage interests mark her as a person of uncommon curiosity and substance. “I’m always on the side of the oppressed,” she tells our writer Jen Wang— which is the kind of thing people say these days, but a passing acquaintance with Dua’s history reveals that she’s not posturing. Dua is the child of refugees—her parents fled violence in their native Kosovo under Slobodan Milošević’s tyranny—and she has launched a newsletter and podcast that cover everything from feminism to geopolitics to where to dine out in Tokyo. Dua’s sensitivity and wide-ranging interests have endeared her to a fascinating collection of friends, from the Nobel laureate Nadia Murad to Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing to Megan Thee Stallion. (“She felt like a familiar spirit,” says Megan of Dua.) Dua navigates the serious and the lighthearted with an ease that feels very 2022. She’s a person that bridges worlds, which I might argue is the quality that matters most right now. We have been thinking a lot about multitasking at Vogue and are drawn to people who mix and match disciplines—like the wonderful actor-writer Danai Gurira, whom our editor Chloe Schama has profiled this month 30

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and who is playing Richard III at New York’s Shakespeare in the Park this summer. Or the models photographed by Jack Day in “Model Behavior”—all are content creators themselves, as adept behind the camera as they are in front of it. Even the brave journalists who have been reporting on the ground from Ukraine, and defining the coverage of that tragic invasion, have broadened our idea of what a war correspondent can do. That the most notable of them happen to be women perhaps matters less than the way they have harnessed the world’s attention and empathy—in words, through audio, and on camera. “I don’t think of myself as a war reporter,” National Public Radio’s Leila Fadel told our writer Michelle Ruiz this month. “I just cover people.” And it is the reports of ordinary Ukrainians that have been so unforgettable—the seven-year-old boy fleeing Kyiv who told The New York Times’ Sabrina Tavernise about losing his baby teeth, or the Kyiv woman who expressed guilt about wanting to get her hair done, or the searing photo by Pulitzer Prize–winning Lynsey Addario—historic already—of the family struck down with their bags lying beside them. The need for stories and images like these couldn’t be greater.

FAS HIO N E DITOR: J ORDE N BIC KHAM. HAIR, EVANIE FRAUSTO; MAKEU P, MARC E LO GU TIE RR E Z. PRO DUCE D BY AP ST U DIOS. S ET DES IG N, S PE NC E R V RO OMAN ; FU RNITU RE, GRE EN RIV E R PROJ ECT. DE TAILS, SE E IN T HI S ISSUE .

WELL RED DUA LIPA WEARS A JUDY TURNER TOP AND SASH. GIVENCHY DRESS. PHOTOGRAPHED BY TYLER MITCHELL.

Contributors

Off the Grid

For “In Deep” (page 98), Santiago Sierra Soler (above) went to Los Guayabos, the extraordinary ecological community on the outskirts of Guadalajara, to photograph resident Mexican model Tindi Mar. Vogue’s sustainability editor, Tonne Goodman, and the fashion director of Vogue Mexico and Latin America, Valentina Collado, provided excellent company. “Tonne pushed me in the best way possible to create beautiful images while giving me a lot of creative freedom,” Sierra Soler says. And Mar made for an inspiring subject. “We both feel the same calling to spread a conscious message, and to lead by example,” he notes. “We are both passionate about protecting nature and the preservation of our Indigenous traditions.” The photography of Peter Beard, a “big inspiration” for Sierra Soler generally, helped to inform his storytelling, which had everything to do with the way that Mar lives. “We wanted to capture the magic of Tindi’s community,” Sierra Soler says.

Paris, Je t’aime

In “Model Behavior” (page 108), styled by Vogue contributing editor Gabriella Karefa-Johnson and British Vogue contributing editor Jack Borkett, models Adut Akech, Vittoria Ceretti, Sora Choi, Paloma Elsesser, Kaia Gerber, Bella Hadid, Gigi Hadid, Kendall Jenner, Sherry Shi, Mona Tougaard, and Anok Yai all strut, pose, take five, and set off across Paris, as captured both by photographer Jack Day, and by the women themselves. It’s a glimpse between the cracks of their busy schedules, as well as a useful reminder that work is still work—although there is a slightly different shimmer to it along the Seine. “I spend a lot of time during fashion month in the car, running from show to fitting to show,” Gigi says. “But in Paris, you can be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic and it’s still a joy.” Yai heartily agrees. “The energy is at 100 at all times,” she says. “It’s one of those things that you can’t put into words, you just have to be there to understand.”

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SAN TIAG O: COURTESY OF SANT IAG O SIE RRA SO LER . P OLA ROIDS : COU RT ESY OF O LIV IA GA LL I. BOTTOM: COU RT ESY OF GI GI HAD ID.

Watercolor Memories

The season’s best and beachiest accessories are the focus of “New Horizons” (page 124), a portfolio from seven dynamic photographers— among them the New York–based Olivia Galli, who found inspiration for her image in a sepia-tinted past. Since the death of her grandmother Joan (pictured above in the late 1960s) three years ago, “I’ve been drawn to my family’s albums,” Galli says. She was particularly dazzled, on a recent visit to Chicago, by a picture of her mother and uncle summering with friends in Michigan (top). “I could feel the warmth from the late afternoon sun on her skin,” Galli says. “That relaxation is something I always want my photography to convey.”

Remembrance

Patrick Demarchelier, 1943 –2022

atrick Demarchelier lived for photography. He was never happier than when he had a camera in his hand— he just loved working, whether it was on location in some faraway place for a fashion shoot, the dunes of Montauk for a Vogue cover, or in his studio for a portrait of an artist or celebrity. He was constantly jumping on a plane. Travel connected him to the world, and it never fazed him—nothing fazed him. He was up at the crack of dawn to catch that early light, and he was forever in a good mood. Planning a shoot with Patrick always started the same way: The minute he knew he was doing it with you, you couldn’t get him off the phone. He absolutely loved talking, and kept us transfixed for hours, even if what he was saying in that Gallic mumble of his was barely decipherable! Anna Wintour once said: “Patrick never sounds so French as when he is speaking English.” She was right. I don’t think many people could understand Patrick, but he just kept saying “Ça va…okay, bébé…fab-ulous…” to all his subjects. It made both you and them laugh. The images he took of Princess Diana made him famous because he showed a member of the British royal family as she had never been seen before—real, personable, relaxed—and I’m pretty

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THE MASTER Patrick Demarchelier—who died in March at 78—photographed by his son Victor for Vogue, 2010.

sure he said the exact same things to her: “Fab-u-lous, bébé, fantastique….” That was part of his charm, and Patrick was super, super charming. You can see that in his portraits of Linda, Kate, Naomi, and Christy. (One of his all-time favorite pictures, I’m told, was Christy in a huge rose hat for British Vogue from 1992.) In all his portraits of first ladies and presidents, stars and celebrities, though, they look happy. He even got a smile out of the grim-faced Rudy Giuliani. One of my funniest times with Patrick was when we shot the crew of The September Issue as props just

before the film came out. I was tired of the group following us around for a year, so I turned the tables on them! Patrick had Bob Richman, the documentary cameraman, mercilessly jumping up and down with model Caroline Trentini. Bob was a little large at that time, but Patrick kept saying, again and again: “Jump, Bob, jump! You look fantastique!” Later on, the art department wanted to slim down poor Bob’s stomach, but neither Patrick nor I would allow them. After all, Bob was not a male model: He is a gifted cinematographer! I first met Patrick a long, long time ago in Paris. I was at British Vogue back then and often crossed the Channel to work with the young, incredibly good-looking “new wave’’ photographers. Bill Cunningham had christened them “the Frenchies,” even though they weren’t, strictly, all French. They took fashion out of the studio, where it seemed stuffy and old, and put it on the cobbled streets of Paris. They photographed the uptight French couture sitting outside a café or running round the Place de la Concorde. You would find Hans Feurer on one corner for the back light, Arthur Elgort on another, and Patrick on another. They brought fashion to life and gave it joy. Then America discovered them, and it wasn’t long before Patrick found his way to New York, bringing with him his own > 4 2

PO RT RAIT: COURTESY OF V ICTOR DE MARC HE LIER/AUGUST.

Whether working in his studio or on some far-flung location, the legendary photographer had an infectious joie de vivre. Grace Coddington pays tribute.

I’LL COVER YOU Caroline Trentini and Eloise Burke in East Hampton, New York, Vogue, 2011. An avid sailor, Demarchelier made some of his most memorable images by the sea.

Remembrance

particular style of working, which was a breath of fresh air. The rest of the group soon followed. I don’t remember the first time we worked together. I think it was a trip to Barbados for British Vogue with a new model, Bonnie Berman, who had been discovered while working as a hat-check girl at Mr Chow. In those days, trips were long, maybe even two weeks. Watching Bonnie grow each day as she shot with Patrick and me was fascinating—those pictures likely launched her very successful career. For American Vogue we went to Anguilla with Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks, and Beverly Peele. With little in the way of props—just miles and miles of beautiful white-sand beaches 42

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JUMP SHOT above: Cinematographer Bob Richman and Trentini in 2007. top right: Natalia Vodianova with some of Dior’s petites mains in Paris in 2008. right: Christy Turlington in Cabo San Lucas in 1991.

and blue, blue sky and sea—it was all down to the girls and how they would interact. Patrick was an avid sailor and had hired a huge yacht for us for the shoot, and we all set sail. There was so much shrieking and screaming and laughter going on, I began to worry we would all end up in the water and the clothes would be ruined! But Naomi, ever the mother figure, reeled in the girls and saved the day.

If Patrick wasn’t working with me at Vogue, he worked with Carlyne Cerf de Dudzeele. He did brilliant pictures with her, totally different to those he shot with me. He’d adjust to everyone: With Carlyne it was chic, chic, chic, and so French. She is a master of styling, particularly with accessories. Three watches on each wrist? “Ça va, no problem!” Carlyne would say. Ten bracelets? “Ça va, no problem!”

GOOD FACE above: Karlie Kloss in 2010. below right: Daria Werbowy on the private island of Motu Tane in French Polynesia in 2004. below left: Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks, and Beverly Peele make merry in a yacht off the shore of Anguilla in 1992.

I loved some pictures that Patrick and Carlyne did of Christy, all shot sitting on one small rock on the beach at Cabo San Lucas (a favorite location of his). The dawn light was gorgeous, and Christy was drop-dead beautiful. All of the images were in black and white—never a big hit with Anna—but they ran because these simple pictures were done with such strength and conviction. (A few years

later, he and sittings editor Phyllis Posnick would become a force to be reckoned with for their striking beauty images.) Patrick was always totally decisive and fast—essential on many occasions, particularly with actors who might love to be filmed but for whom fashion pictures were just not their thing. In 2008 he and I did a couture story that will go down in history

with model Natalia Vodianova and all the white-coated seamstresses and artisans—les petites mains, as they are called—from each couture house, out on the streets of Paris. His graciousness and patience—and, of course, his speaking their language— really paid off. I miss Patrick already. He was someone who was always happy to collaborate. He was generous, and he never became difficult just to prove something. He was right for the moment and he moved with the moment. He understood that the times called for a woman who is strong and full of confidence. And he loved beautiful clothes. Well, of course—after all, he was French, wasn’t he? @ VOGUE.COM

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Nostalgia

The Unthinkable

first started going back to Moscow, the city where I was born and which I left as a child, in the summer of 1995, when I was in college. I had never seen anything like it. There were guys on the street wearing leather jackets over tracksuits. There were old ladies on the street selling their socks. My grandmother’s courtyard had become an open-air brothel— young women would line up at night and cars would come in and shine their lights on them and choose. And the people that my parents had known—academics, engineers, literary critics—had been thrown out of work and were living, many of them, in desperate poverty. I was young and carefree (though very serious), and I traveled around the country by train. I went south, to the Caucasus, then to Crimea, through Ukraine. Almost everywhere I went, I met young people, like me, who took me in. In Pyatigorsk, an old resort town at the foothills of the Caucasus, where the great Romantic poet Lermontov had been killed in a duel, I learned what it meant to start drinking in the morning after you’d been drinking at night. I also met a young man who was back from his military unit for the weekend. There was a war then, too, with Chechnya. This young man, my age, 20, had been part of the attempted capture of Chechen rebels who had taken

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over a hospital in the Russian city of Budyonnovsk. The Russian army decided to send tanks to liberate the hospital. The Chechen fighters, experienced men, had trapped the tanks in the city streets and then proceeded to light them up. The young man said he was in a tank when flames came through the top of it, and then his commanding officer was on fire. He scrambled out of the tank, he said, and ran. In the fall I returned to Moscow and started a semesterabroad program at a college near the Novoslobodskaya metro. Moscow at the time was a place you could buy anything—except a place to sit down and eat. There were a few old and elaborate Soviet restaurants, and there were food stands on the street, but that was it. In the Soviet era, which had carried over to the present, people ate at the often very delicious cafeterias in their workplaces. Our college had such a cafeteria. But if you left the confines of the institution and wandered into the big city, you were out of luck. I had gone, in a sense, to look for my mother: She had died in our home in Newton, Massachusetts, three >48 ANOTHER WORLD “I HAD GONE TO RUSSIA, IN A SENSE, TO LOOK FOR MY MOTHER,” WRITES GESSEN, WHOSE NEW MEMOIR, RAISING RAFFI, IS PUBLISHED THIS MONTH. HARRY GRUYAERT, MOSCOW, RUSSIA, 1989.

To the Moscow-born writer Keith Gessen, Russia was a place of uneasy and endless fascination. Now, it feels like a lost country.

Nostalgia Before the War years earlier, of breast cancer, while I was still in high school, and though we had been friendly, I felt like I did not know her very well. I did not understand her background, only that she was a literary critic and had read every book ever written. For dinner she would fry a pork chop and heat some peas out of a can. Then we would all sit together at the table and read our books—my mom read new novels in English, German, Russian; my dad read mysteries and anything anti-Communist; I read my assignments for school. People coming to visit would occasionally find this scandalous, but that was how we liked it. We were my mother’s family. We wanted to read. Seeing Russia as an adult, I understood. It was a poor country. It was a violent country. It was an uncomfortable country, where there was nowhere to sit down and eat. So people escaped into the nonmaterial world. They sought meaning in art, or music, or literature. My mother had her books; my father, a practical man, a computer programmer, had math, and his hatred of communism, and a kind of stubborn Jewish pride. What am I? What is my life for? These Tolstoyan questions seemed, somehow, not out of place in Moscow. For something like $10 I bought a ticket to a staging of Chekhov’s The Seagull at the Moscow Art Theater. I had never seen it before. “I am the seagull!” Nina said, in this staging, very forcefully. “I am the seagull!” (Treplev had earlier shot the seagull, for no good reason.) It was something, it seemed to me, that only a Russian person would say. An American person would more likely have said, “I am a lawyer. I work in marketing. I am a college student.” At my Russian college, in my classes, everywhere I looked, there was my mother. That young girl poring over a book; and that one; and that one. I fell in love with a girl named Anya. She had enormous green eyes and she had read everything. We decided to get married. “I knew this would happen,” said my grandmother. I was flabbergasted. How could she have known? “You’re 20 years old,” she said. “Not 80, like me.” Anya and I moved to America and, after a few years, broke up. But I kept going back to Russia. I had become a writer and a journalist, and it was an interesting place to write about, and I had the advantage of knowing the language. But also I was moved by its attempts to free itself of its history, to change. At the time Russia was “transitioning,” under Yeltsin and his reformers, from communism to capitalism. There would be growing pains, everyone said. People would be shot on the street, young girls would be sold into prostitution, old ladies would be murdered for their apartments—but at the end of it, the economists said, you’d have a very nice country. Like Poland.

seemed pretty bleak. I didn’t feel like going anymore. And then, a few years later, I would start again. I still had family there, and it was still the land of my birth, the place my mother and father came from, the place where people spoke the language that I had spoken in my home. When my first son was born, I started speaking Russian to him. It was not a conscious decision—I just started and never stopped. My (American) wife, Emily, encouraged me, even though it must have seemed sometimes like there was a stranger in her home. But Russian had meant so much to my mother. Before she died, she had recorded herself reading, on a tape cassette, a small group of poems, by Boris Pasternak and Joseph Brodsky. She didn’t tell us about it, and we only found the cassette a few months later, when cleaning up her stuff. Her voice came back to us, through those poems. The poems she’d chosen by Brodsky were largely about the loneliness of life in America, about how alienating it was, about how one could just disappear there. My son, Raffi, listened to me speaking in Russian and resisted. “It’s not nice for dadas to speak Russian,” he would say, as if I were doing it to hurt him. He felt it marked us as weird. One day at the playground outside his school— he was in first grade at this point and beginning to be conscious of social hierarchies—he whispered in my ear, “I always wondered what it would be like to have a dad who spoke English.” It hurt my feelings, of course. I do know English, and I speak it to his mother all the time. But I had chosen to speak Russian to him, the language of my parents, the language of my heart. And this was how he repaid me? Of course I remembered my own parents, my embarrassment at their strangeness and their accents, at their clothes. Why did my parents always wear such strange clothes—such Russian clothes—where even did they find such clothes, in America? I knew that the only way to get Raffi to really learn and appreciate Russian would be to take him to Moscow. But I was hesitant. When Raffi was turning one, the Russians hacked the servers of the Democratic National Committee and stole a bunch of emails. They started releasing these through WikiLeaks. A short while later, someone would get poisoned; or the Russians would get kicked out of the Olympics for cheating; or something else. It just never seemed like a good time to take Raffi to Moscow. And then the pandemic happened. In January of this year, I went to Moscow for the first time in a while. Ostensibly I was going there as a journalist, to find out if there was going to be an invasion of Ukraine. But I also wanted to see if I would feel comfortable taking Raffi there. Moscow in January was beautiful. Snow hung off the fir trees in huge white clumps. The holiday lights were still up. Little kids—Raffis, they all seemed to me, but Russianspeaking—were bundled up in snowsuits and walking with their mothers to go sledding. C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 1 4 0

It was a poor country. It was a violent country. It was an uncomfortable country

There would be times when I would stop going back— when it would seem hopeless and useless. After 2000, in the wake of the financial collapse of 1998, the coming to power of a cold-eyed silovik named Vladimir Putin, things 48

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PH OTO GRAPH ED BY PABLO DI PRIMA; S IMON’S PO RT RAIT: PH OTO GRAPH ED BY MARCO MAESTRI. C REATIV E DIRECTION BY S IMON PO RTE JACQUE MUS.

Just Jouez! French designer Simon Porte Jacquemus’s sensual new collection with Nike brings a je ne sais quoi to Just Do It.

imon Porte Jacquemus’s shows in Hawaii, Provence, and Paris have included sport-centric pieces like scuba gear, hiking boots, and swimwear, but when his models walk the Paris runways in late June, they will be playing a whole new game, so to speak: Nearly three years in the making, Jacquemus’s debut collaboration with Nike marries the designer’s love of the outdoors and his body-conscious aesthetic with Nike’s expertise in making some of the most technically advanced activewear in the world. “Sport was always super important in the Jacquemus DNA,” says Jacquemus from his Paris office, noting that his 2014 and 2015 collections were grounded by sneakers. “But as Jacquemus grew, the Jacquemus girl changed— she got heels!” he continues, with a laugh. Still, something lingered in his mind. “I always said to myself, If one day I do a collaboration, it will be with Nike.” The American sportswear behemoth first connected with the designer in 2018 for a French campaign that featured an image of Jacquemus jumping for a header amid a throng that included the French national soccer team star Kylian Mbappé, and by the start of 2020, the ink was dry on a co-branded collaboration. Jacquemus took his first meeting at Nike’s Beaverton headquarters in Oregon in February of that year. “Mind-blowing,” he says of days there that consisted of “buying vintage in a cool shop in the mornings, then going hiking, then having a meeting after passing by the swimming pool of the Nike campus”—a lifestyle that blended work with working out, mirroring Jacquemus’s own routine in Paris. (“I haven’t been to the pool today, and I haven’t been on a hike,” he admits when we speak on Zoom, “but I do a lot of sport every morning before coming to the studio.”) Even two years of remote work—along with getting a puppy, Toutou, and becoming engaged to his longtime partner, French communications executive Marco Maestri (the two are planning an August wedding)—couldn’t slow Jacquemus’s roll, as ideas began to spring GOOD SPORT Pieces—and process—from the new collaboration between Simon Porte Jacquemus (opposite, left) and Nike.

forth immediately. Jacquemus, an avid collector of Nike’s ACG (All Conditions Gear) line, wanted to bring that functionality to his own womenswear obsessions, like “late-’90s lace miniskirts, Lady Di’s sport looks, and the DNA of tennis.” “I wanted to do something super light,” he says. Et voilà: The neutral-toned womenswear pieces of this new collection marry Jacquemus’s effortlessness and ease with Nike’s technical prowess. Take a pair of pearl white bike shorts—seemingly as prêt-à-porter as possible, until you realize that they are made without seams, from Nike’s specially engineered knit. That backless dress? It promises to work just as hard at the gym as it would at the club. “Super light, but super sensual,” says Jacquemus of the crux of his collection. “That was my first idea.” For Nike, bringing that kind of French allure to sport was essential. “We always seek to work with collaborators that offer up something we don’t have as a brand,” says Jarrett Reynolds, Nike’s vice president of Catalyst Apparel Design, which fosters the brand’s more innovative partnerships. “Simon’s superpower is the sensuality of his design and his emotion…he can take the mundane and make it really special.” Among the special things in the 15-piece collection are Huarache sneakers with a tiny swoosh; a pleated skirt that calls to mind the on-court uniforms of Jacquemus’s favorite players, Emma Raducanu and Naomi Osaka; and a bucket hat for hikers and bikers of all genders. “I wanted to use this collection to speak to a larger audience,” Jacquemus says. “It was super important to me also for this to not be an elitist collaboration—to have something that everyone can wear.” The partnership, which is ongoing, will only help Jacquemus expand his impact. Without divulging too much, he alludes to what’s next: “The collection will grow—maybe something more Nike is coming, and then something more in between.” Menswear seems like a must. But in the immediate future, look for Nike x Jacquemus in the backyards of Beaverton, on the hiking trails of Marseille—Simon’s favorites—and everywhere in between. Maybe even the courts of the French Open, I ask? Jacquemus brightly smiles at the suggestion. “That would be cute!”—steff yotka VOGUE.COM

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Long Day’s Journey The newly opened Kisawa Sanctuary is part resort, part nature reserve, and an adventure in itself.

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(lodgings are arranged in one-, two-, and three-bedroom configurations), one of Kisawa’s on-site butlers, Isaias, hands me the keys to a baby pink Mini Moke while flashing a smile. He could drive me around the property’s 740 acres, he said. Or, even better yet, I could do it myself. So goes the ethos of Kisawa, a retreat radical in both its remoteness and freedom, where attentiveness is balanced with adventurism. Any guest embarking on the journey to get here, the resort recognizes, must have a desire for exploration. So Kisawa indulges it: Activities include overnight glamping on the dunes, sunset cocktails on a traditional dhow, and expeditions to spot dugongs (rare sea cows). Kisawa partners with the Bazaruto Center for Scientific Studies (BCSS), the continent’s first-ever permanent ocean observatory, also founded by Flohr, so you can join scientists on coral-monitoring dives or help them tag sharks from research vessels. (A portion of proceeds from Kisawa benefits BCSS.) Environmentalism and localism are the twin pillars of the resort. “Sustainability is an approach, rather than an underscore,” says Flohr. If the more active offerings seem intense, a spa massage or a poolside glass of Stellenbosch rosé are always options, too. However time passes at Kisawa, it is every hour worth the journey.—elise taylor

FLAMIN GO : ALAMY. PRO PE RT Y IMAG ES : E LSA YOU NG/COU RT ESY O F K ISAWA SAN CTUARY.

t is admittedly an ordeal to get to Kisawa Sanctuary, a new resort on Mozambique’s Benguerra Island, almost no matter where you’re coming from. I first flew 15 hours from New York to Johannesburg, arriving too late to catch a connecting flight. The next morning, it was a two-hour plane trip to the resort town of Vilankulo, where the sun-cracked tarmac was visually at odds with the modern glass-and-metal airport that stood before it—an emblem of Mozambique’s rising tourism industry. After a quick drive through town, two attendants from Kisawa met me on the beach, where they nimbly hoisted my luggage atop their heads and led me to a boat that would speed through the Indian Ocean toward the Bazaruto Archipelago. FOR THE BIRDS above and below: The Bazaruto Archipelago, offiTranquil scenes from cially a national park, comprises five the resort, where islands, renowned for their white flamingos and the odd beaches and diverse marine life—the dhow dot the shore. second largest of them all, Benguerra, has quietly emerged as a wild and stealthy getaway. When I pull up to its shores, only a handful of Kisawa’s thatched roofs are visible amid the African bush. Kisawa founder Nina Flohr says she took cues from the tropical modernist movement as well as the work of local craftsmen for Kisawa’s integrated ambience. “It’s a modern-day interpretation of Mozambique,” she says. At my residence

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fter I was born, my grandmother got everything that was green. I think this one had to do with me—it reminded her of ivy leaves,” Ivy Getty says, pointing to—but not touching!—a spectacular brooch of emeralds, peridots, green garnets, zircons, and diamonds by the renowned jewelry artist Joel Arthur Rosenthal, known as JAR, displayed with 11 other JAR jewels on trays in a private room at Christie’s in Manhattan. These glittering prizes, each of which was once owned by Ivy’s grandmother Ann Getty, are set to be auctioned as the leading lights of Christie’s Magnificent Jewels auction on June 8. For jewelry aficionados, and I am one, the opportunity to view this many JARs is a once-in-a-lifetime event: Here is a multi-gem fleur-de-lis brooch with a somber shimmer evoking stained glass; there is a pair of unmatched earrings, each designed as a fantastical oak leaf in a mélange of tourmalines, garnets, amethysts, sapphires, emeralds, aquamarines, and—why not?—round diamonds. But Ivy, who was raised in San Francisco by her grandparents, saw these extraordinary pieces up close and personal on a daily basis. “She didn’t keep these locked up in a vault,” Ivy remembers. “She wore them all the time, but she wasn’t ostentatious—she would never tell me what she had. She wanted me to just appreciate her things as art. Her taste was so elite.” Well, yes…but not always. Ivy laughs that while Ann Getty may have flaunted a JAR pin with carefree confidence, she

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also had a shirt—worn JAR-less—that bragged i’m ivy’s grandmother over a blurry photo of her beloved granddaughter. “I had the most abnormal upbringing in the coolest way possible,” Ivy, a visual artist and model, insists. She describes almost nightly benefits and dinner parties with a dazzling crowd of international luminaries in her grandparents’ Pacific Heights mansion, which kept her up while she was trying to get some sleep for school the next day, her grandfather singing opera in the courtyard. It was, in fact, a coming of age like none other, with spur-of-the-moment visits to Paris runways (she recalls her grandmother picking her up from class and saying, “Want to come to France tomorrow?”). But Ivy is also a scion of a clan with a deeply fraught history, and she confesses that she has had, at different times in her life, a deep longing to be less extraordinary. “I used to put on Good Morning America every day,” she says. “I thought that was what a normal family would do.” If her name has been on fashionable lips lately, it may be because of the media coverage surrounding her three-day wedding last November to photographer Tobias Engel. Ivy wore an haute couture creation by John Galliano for > 6 4 FACE VALUE Artist and model Ivy Getty, surrounded by (and wearing) key pieces from Christie’s Magnificent Jewels sale: earrings and brooches by JAR once owned by her late grandmother Ann.

IVY: PHOTO GRAPHE D BY LE LANIE FOST ER/COU RT ESY OF C HRISTIE’S IMAG ES LIMITE D, 2022 .

Lynn Yaeger pays a call to her similarly stylish granddaughter Ivy.

IT'S MORE THAN CHOCOLATE

IT'S MAGNUM ICE CREAM

Maison Margiela made of mirrors; her friend, the actor Anya Taylor-Joy, was her maid of honor; Nancy Pelosi officiated. She explains that it came after a very tough year: In September 2020, her grandmother passed away; two months later, she lost her father. She muses that, in her mind, the fête was almost a way to honor the house itself—the place that had once rung with laughter and soaring voices. Today she is wearing a pair of Hermès trousers, an Hermès alligator belt, and a Balmain jacket, all of which came straight out of her grandmother’s closet. “She always tried to get me to dress like her,” Ivy says, “and now I’m wearing all her clothes, all of the time.” Over her shoulder is slung a rare Himalaya crocodile Dior saddle bag, and she has capped all this lusciousness with a filmy Catherine Malandrino leopard top she found on The RealReal for $40. (The blouse is unable to conceal a number of tattoos that are in the process of being erased. Her grandmother hated them. “A lot of people get tattoos when someone passes away,” Ivy says. “For me, it’s the opposite.”) Her late grandmother’s deep wardrobe notwithstanding, Ivy is also an avid vintage-clothes collector, and so we say goodbye to the JAR jewelry and decide to explore another way of dressing up: by going out and looking at things that belong to someone else’s grandmother, or mother—clothes

with their own (far less intimidating) secret histories. At Screaming Mimi’s on West 14th Street, Ivy, who is 27 and therefore born in 1994, shares that she is obsessed with the 1980s—she listens to Boy George, and has never met a Pucci print or a baby doll dress she didn’t like. A Mugler jumpsuit from that era proves irresistible, what with shoulders that are not shy and a scarf tie that can cradle the neck in any number of dashing ways. Shopping bag in hand, we head to the heart of Chinatown to James Veloria, a store known for its finely curated collection of serious labels. The elevated subway rattles above us so loudly we can barely hear ourselves, and we are having some trouble actually finding the address until we spot someone trussed up in feathers and Louboutins and decide to follow this person, who indeed leads us to our destination. Ten minutes inside the door, Ivy starts for the fitting room with a pile that includes a stretchy Gaultier number photo-printed with a fuzzy face—Ivy thinks it’s Jim Morrison—and a black drop-waisted Moschino dress. They both look great on her, and since she sat next to Gaultier at the last Balmain show and, frankly, fell in love with him, that one is a no-brainer. But she is not 100 percent sure about the Moschino. “I see myself in the English countryside wearing something like this,” she fantasizes, “but I’m not planning to go to the country anytime soon!” I ask her how much it costs, and when she says one-fifty, I burst out: “Oh, Ivy—please, just get it!” So she fishes for her credit card in that Himalayan Dior and buys the Moschino, a frock that in another lifetime, in another dream, might have provided the perfect backdrop for an emerald ivy JAR brooch. @

“My grandmother wore it all the time,” Ivy says of the jewelry. “But she wasn’t ostentatious”

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WE DDING : PHOTOG RAPHE D BY JOSE VIL LA.

ALL IN THE FAMILY left: Ann Getty at her house in San Francisco. Photographed by Horst P. Horst, Vogue, 1977. above: Ivy Getty at her wedding last November.

MAKE YOUR BODY SMILE

no digital distortion

Change Agents

his past spring, a small group of women gathered at the Beaverbrook estate in Surrey, England, a 470-acre country idyll outside London that once received guests including Elizabeth Taylor and Ian Fleming. The sprawling property, which has become a destination for wellness programs featuring everything from lectures on traditional Chinese massage to Wim Hof’s cold plunges, had lured attendees for a women’s health retreat. The topics included abdominal massage therapy and guided talks on depleted estrogen. “This is the first time there have been so many of us,” gut-health expert Amanda Porter relayed to the group, adding the staggering statistic that nearly 1 billion women are projected to experience the onset of symptoms including hot flashes and brain fog by 2025. They are the many, the confused, the perimenopausal. “Think of it like puberty,” says Jen Gunter, MD, a Canadian American gynecologist and the author of The Menopause Manifesto. “There isn’t really a hard start date, and you don’t know that you’re in it until you’re really in it.” She goes on to describe an often undiagnosed panoply of symptoms associated with perimenopause, which precedes menopause (when you’ve gone 12 consecutive months without menstruating) and can start as early as our mid30s: cycle irregularities, increased anxiety and depression, insomnia, night sweats, weight gain, a decimated sex drive. A lack of visibility doesn’t help. When I turned 43, feeling wholly unequipped for my own experience with mood swings and spontaneously heavy periods—and with no guidance from my doctor—I found myself googling “flash periods” after an episode of And Just Like That… (the one where Charlotte memorably bleeds through a white jumpsuit at a

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charity paint party). “There was just this lack of information and support,” agrees the actor Naomi Watts when we spoke about the topic earlier this year. “I’d had enough.” This September, Watts will join an increasingly vocal group of entrepreneurs, celebrities, and medical providers determined to change that dynamic when she launches a new perimenopause- and menopause-focused wellness brand with Bay Area biotech company Amyris. It’s true that hormones—their unpredictability, and their ripple effect on how we look and feel—are increasingly part of the beauty conversation. “The first part of perimenopause is typically characterized by estrogen levels that fluctuate, but are still pretty high, and decreasing progesterone levels. And then the second part has to do with very rapidly declining estrogen,” explains Anna Barbieri, MD, an ob-gyn at New York’s Mount Sinai Hospital. Hormone replacement therapy (HRT), in which synthetic versions of these hormones can bolster dwindling supplies, remains a tried-and-true course of treatment. “Every single one of us who’s entering this transition or going through it should know about the option of hormone therapy and its risks and benefits,” says Barbieri, who is also the founding physician of Elektra Health, a digital women’s health platform offering virtual one-on-one menopause care with accredited providers and accountability counselors known as “menopause douTHINGS ARE LOOKING UP las.” But now there are also With 1 billion women projected products such as Kindra’s to experience perimenopause hot flash– and night sweat– by 2025, a host of new mitigating Cool Down Mist; female-founded brands are launching to support them. Wile’s Drinking Your >7 2

STEV EN KL EIN /TRUN K ARC HIVE

Once a verboten topic, menopause—and the sometimes lengthy, often rocky period of time that precedes it—is the wellness focus du jour. Finally, writes Fiorella Valdesolo.

Feelings, a stress-reducing adaptogen powder that can be mixed into your daily matcha; and the skin-calming Meditation Gel Cream from Knours, an entire skin-care range tailored to fluctuating cycles. Veracity, a six-piece skin-care line formulated to support tangential issues, including excess oil production and thinning skin, recently inspired a Hormone Balancing Facial at The Well, Manhattan’s buzzy destination for mindful beauty. A 60-minute treatment left my skin far less inflamed than usual, and my soul soothed. Despite an uptick in home diagnostic tests from Thriva and Everlywell, there is no clinically proven way to test for perimenopause. “Somebody who tells you we can just measure your estrogen and progesterone is bullshitting you,” says Alicia Jackson, PhD, the founder of Evernow, a telehealth company that aims to provide patients with 24/7 online perimenopause support as well as virtual hormone therapy plans. That’s because our hormone levels during this transition vary wildly from day to day, so testing them to get a quantifiable diagnosis isn’t reliable. “There’s no established value for them,” agrees Barbieri. What hormone testing can help with, she says, is to rule out other conditions (like thyroid abnormalities, for instance) that can often pose as perimenopause. Somi Javaid, MD, a Cincinnati-based ob-gyn,

uses hormone tests at HerMD, the medical practice she runs in Ohio and Kentucky, for a different reason: “If women see that their FSH [follicle-stimulating hormone], which is responsible for controlling our menstrual cycles, is going up and their estrogen and testosterone are going down, I may not be able to tell them they’re perimenopausal, but it helps them understand that something’s going on,” says Javaid, adding that this kind of validation is extremely important: “So many women who complain about perimenopause symptoms are being dismissed.” According to a recent report published in The New York Times, female patients—and particularly women of color—are far more likely than men to experience a kind of medical gaslighting (in which legitimate symptoms are invalidated by doctors); when it comes to perimenopause, that brush-off may be even more widespread. Stacy London experienced this firsthand. The longtime fashion stylist’s hormonal transition at age 46 had a number of typical markers. “I started to feel anxiety all the time, my skin got worse, my joints felt sore, I had insomnia and terrible brain fog,” says London. “I thought my brain was short-circuiting, because I couldn’t remember words.” London’s doctor recognized her symptoms but provided little recourse C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 1 4 0

“So many women who complain about perimenopause symptoms are being dismissed”

Wash and Go

PACKING MENTALITY Soho Skin’s totable lineup features science-backed ingredients.

Soho House debuts travel-ready, resultsoriented skin care.

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busy lifestyles,” says Aalish YorkeLong, the managing director of Soho House Retail, which just began rolling out Soho Skin, a new 11-piece line of science-backed skin care that was designed for discerning travelers, by discerning travelers. Feedback cards from 118,000 sample kits were placed in Soho House rooms globally to help Yorke-Long and her team understand what their jet-setting clientele is looking for: products that are quick and easy to use, have visible results, and can be used alone or in tandem. That wish list

was shared with a U.K.-based cosmetic chemist to help create formulas including the standout 24/7 Treatment, which infuses a base of the line’s microbiome-nourishing concentrate with lactic and hyaluronic acids for fresh, hydrated skin no matter what time you land (or what time you get in). And there’s good news for those of us seeking similar results without a membership card: Come September, the entire cell-energizing collection will be available at sohoskin.com for public consumption.—hannah coates

ALE X W EB B/MAG NU M PH OTOS

he hotel-amenities game has changed drastically over the past few years—from an introduction of pillow concierges and contactless check-ins, to hypercurated bath products instead of stock body lotions and abrasive bar soaps. Soho House was hip to this shift more than two decades ago. Its Cowshed brand of in-house spa indulgences has offered members at the club’s 32 international locations natural, elevated hair- and body-care options since it launched in 1998. But there is little in-room recourse for a forgotten bottle of prebiotic face wash or a TSA-confiscated vitamin C– and niacinamide-spiked moisturizer, even for Soho House guests. “Our members told us they wanted high-performing skin care to meet the demands of their

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Life, Literature, Love The best summer fiction takes in all three.

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In The Lovers (HarperVia) the celebrated Italian novelist Paolo Cognetti has crafted a short novel of affecting elegance, set in and around the alpine town of Fontana Fredda. Our protagonist, Fausto, is a stalled writer who abandons his petit bourgeois life in Milan for a more elemental existence as a cook and begins an affair with Silvia, an alluring young waitress. Cognetti’s prose, translated into English by the poet Stash Luczkiw, knowingly calls Hemingway to mind (in one chapter, Fausto remembers teaching the story “In Another Country”), but the more important influence is Kent Haruf’s Plainsong. Here, as there, a small community of simple people seems uncommonly beautiful. marley marius

An unlikely love story is the warming center of Mohsin Hamid’s The Last White Man (Riverhead)—unlikely because the novel presents as the kind of cool, elegant fable Hamid has become known for. Here, the characters find themselves subjected to a mysterious force that shifts their skin from white to a deep, undeniable brown. At first the change seems to affect only a few, but as it spreads, so do the attendant disruptions. The book is obviously about race—Hamid has been mulling this work ever since the events of September 11 made him acutely aware of his own skin color—but it is also about the burgeoning love between its two unabashedly physical main characters, Anders, a trainer at a gym, and Oona, a yoga instructor. Even when corporeal form seems a mutable thing, the bond between the two acts as a bulwark against the unpredictability of the world.—chloe schama

THE LAST W HITE M AN: COURT ESY O F PE N GU IN RANDOM HOUS E. TH E RED ARROW: COU RTESY O F PE N GU IN RANDO M HOUS E . THE LOVE RS : COU RT ESY O F HAR PERCOLL INS. Y ER BA BUE N A: COU RTESY O F FL ATIRON BO OKS.

omething old is new again in William Brewer’s The Red Arrow (Knopf), a rollicking bildungsroman meets wellness-throughhallucinogenics debut. Our hero has risen from the sticks of West Virginia to become a penniless painter and writer in New York who lucks into a gorgeous tech-employed fiancée and a hefty book contract. Trouble ensues. The advance is spent, the novel is not written (even as we’re given vivid glimpses of what it could be), and a suicidal depression descends. But our protagonist lucks out again—a ghostwriting gig for a star physicist seems to pull him out of his hole—until more trouble strikes. The Red Arrow is about how to survive a creative life in 21stcentury America, and its answer will surprise you. Brewer’s earnest description of psilocybin therapy turns a bravura comic novel into something deeper and stranger: an account of unexpected, hard-won joy.—taylor antrim Two women, each with her own shadowy past, are drawn together by the magnetism of a glamorous Los Angeles restaurant in Yerba Buena (Flatiron), a deeply sexy debut adult novel from award-winning Y.A. author Nina LaCour. Former teen runaway Sara has reinvented herself as one of the city’s most in-demand bartenders, but she’s still haunted by painful memories. Meanwhile, the connection she forges with creative, slightly lost Emilie—who puts together the restaurant’s otherworldly flower arrangements—is immediate and profound, but not without its own challenges. Combining the dishy service-industry gossip of Stephanie Danler’s Sweetbitter with the queer angst and after-hours romance of Kristen Arnett’s Mostly Dead Things, Yerba Buena is the thinking woman’s beach read (especially if said beach happens to be in Provincetown during Pride).—emma specter

ADVER TISEMENT

CENTER STAGE Dua Lipa’s longdelayed live show is a disco party for grown-ups. She wears a Conner Ives dress. Fashion Editor: Jorden Bickham.

The Rebirth of Dua Lipa The feel-good, do-good star is (finally) throwing a party and everyone’s invited. Jen Wang speaks to Dua about being a pop sensation for serious times. Photographed by Tyler Mitchell.

erhaps inspired by her visit to the Johnson Space Center earlier in the week, Dua Lipa shows up to try Texas barbecue for the first time in what can only be described as astronaut drip. The British–Kosovar Albanian singer is wearing flared, silver Courrèges trousers that look like one half of a groovy space suit, and diamond Eéra carabiner earrings that might come in handy if the International Space Station were to radio “Houston, we have a problem” down to Mission Control. Houston is one stop of 28 on the U.S. leg of Dua’s Future Nostalgia world tour, delayed three times until this year, when it was finally given a go for launch. Space—a sense of the universal and the communal— provides a metaphor for what she hopes to achieve with her music, Dua explains, as we settle into a back corner table at Truth BBQ, a Central Texas–style joint in the historic Heights neighborhood of my childhood hometown. “Everyone has their own version of spirituality,” she says. “Sometimes when you talk about it, it can sound cliché. But for me, God is just what you put out there and what you get back. I’m trying to bring people together with music, trying to bring light, you know? There’s a cosmic element to sharing songs that make people feel seen or understood.” Bringing people together with music—and dancing, and roller-skating, and vast quantities of rainbow confetti—is just what Dua accomplishes on tour for her acclaimed second album. Her 90-minute show is a disco-themed birthday party for grown-ups, though revelers young enough to require protective headphones are invited too. The set list draws almost entirely from the infectiously dance-y Future Nostalgia, which was released, inopportunely, in March

2020. But the two-year delay between album and tour only seems to hype the show’s party atmosphere. “I didn’t get to see people’s reaction to the album in real life,” she tells me. “So being on tour and seeing the crowds is like, Oh, it was a really big album. I get so excited seeing people coming together as a collective.” Dua’s fun ride of a show pays testament to how far the 26-year-old has come as a performer, and proudly showcases her improved dance skills, where everything from swing to tango to pole dance shows up in the moves she’s honed with choreographer Charm La’Donna, a former backup dancer for Madonna who’s worked with Selena Gomez and Kendrick Lamar. Even a viral shimmy Dua was mocked for on TikTok a few years ago finds its way into her encore performance of “Don’t Start Now,” a physical clapback to the haters, with a dash of self-deprecation. “All I ever wanted was for it to be about the music,” Dua says. “My goal was, I want the music to be good enough so that people would talk about that more than anything else. But unless you’re a fully formed pop star who’s trained in pop-star camp for five fucking years before you hit the stage for the first time, one misstep, one wrong move, one dance that doesn’t really work and it’s used against you. That was fucking hard for me.” The locals who have weathered a two-hour line for Truth’s 15-hour smoked-beef brisket don’t quite know what to make of this now fully formed pop star in their midst. Many diners avert their eyes to evaluate her only from their periphery, the way children are instructed to do when learning not to stare at the sun. Dua cuts an intimidating figure, standing nearly six feet tall in heels, but she wasn’t always so imposing. As a child, she was the 77

WAITING GAME Dua’s Future Nostalgia was released, inopportunely, in March 2020. “I didn’t get to see people’s reaction to the album in real life.” Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello dress. Bulgari necklace.

ONLY CONNECT Dua’s name means “love” in Albanian, her ancestral language. The Row suit. Michael Kors Collection shoes.

ALL IN She’s a polymath whose wide-ranging newsletter, Service95, and podcast, At Your Service, launched this year. Chloé jacket and pants. Church’s shoes.

RESTED AND READY Dua estimates that her next album is halfwritten. “I’ve definitely grown up,” she says of its emerging sound. Khaite dress. Proenza Schouler shoes.

most diminutive in her peer group, so to make up for it, she started wearing high heels at 13. “All my friends had boyfriends before me,” she recalls. “No one fancied me! Every girl was more developed. And I was just like, Fuck, I have no idea if I’m ever gonna grow.” At 18, Dua had a dramatic growth spurt, and last year, at 25, she improbably gained another vertical inch.

ua, whose name means “love” in Albanian, stands out not merely because of her physical presence but for the way she’s chosen to use her star power. Despite her domination of the charts, Dua isn’t competitive by nature, which she attributes to being from the tight-knit Kosovar community. “They have given me so much. They believed in me before anyone else did. So I want to be able to lift other people up if I have the opportunity,” she says. At the start of her tour in February, she unveiled Service95, a subscription newsletter focused on global creatives and activist voices, as well as a podcast called At Your Service, where Dua has shown herself to be an adept interviewer, whether she’s speaking to Elton John, with whom she recently collaborated on their top 10 hit, “Cold Heart,” or Nobel Peace laureate Nadia Murad. (Service95 gets its name from Dua’s wish to be “of service” beyond music, plus her birth year.) Before Dua had Murad on her podcast, she met the 29-year-old Yazidi activist last fall in D.C., where Murad is pursuing a degree in sociology at American University while running Nadia’s Initiative, a nonprofit aiding survivors of sexual violence in conflict areas. Murad was kidnapped by ISIS in northern Iraq in 2014 and sold into slavery before she managed to escape. One of the projects her group oversees is the drafting of the Murad Code, a guideline for governments, journalists, and other investigative bodies on appropriate ways to document sexual violence and to interact with survivors. “Dua saw me as a survivor, not a victim. She showed that she knew the difference in the language she was using,” Murad tells me via Zoom, with her husband and fellow activist, Abid Shamdeen, interpreting. “The word victim, and the stigma that comes with it, is always attached to women. Men are survivors, though, because they fought. But we fought, too.” Approximately 6,000 women and children from Murad’s Yazidi community, an ethno-religious minority in Iraq, were abducted by ISIS, and almost half of those taken remain missing. Although Dua was born in London, her ancestral roots are firmly planted in Kosovo. Her deep identification with the plight of Kosovar Albanians, who were targets of a relentless campaign of ethnic cleansing in the final years of the 20th century, has given her a perspective rarely found in the globally famous. “I’m always on the side of the oppressed,” says Dua, a vociferous supporter of refugee groups, LGBTQ rights, and racial justice. She’s also pro–Labour Party, anti-Brexit, and confounded by the proliferation of guns in the U.S.

“Being from the U.K., it’s hard for me to wrap my head around. When I’m in the car with someone in America and they have, like, a little bit of road rage, I’m always like, ‘Don’t do it. You have no idea who that other person is and if they’re carrying a gun,’” she says, in a room in which it’s statistically likely that nearly half its diners own one. Evading violence is exactly what Dua’s parents, Dukagjin and Anesa, did in 1992 when they left Pristina as part of an exodus of some one million Albanians from the region during Slobodan Milošević’s systematic persecution of Kosovo’s ethnic majority. Their respective studies in dentistry and law were derailed by their move to London, where they instead found work in a pub called the World’s End across the street from their flat. The couple married in March 1995 on that same street, with a party held afterward at the pub. Dua was born later that year. Dua’s sister Rina and brother Gjin—whom Dua calls her “babies”—followed over the next decade. Rina, an actor based in London, tells me, “Dua’s my dad’s twin, you know? Copy, paste. They have similar work ethics and share a love for music”—Dukagjin was in a rock band, Oda, in his 20s—“and my mom is so family-oriented and always the one saying, ‘Look after your siblings.’ So that’s where Dua got her protectiveness.” Dukagjin eventually earned a business degree and moved the family back to Kosovo for work when Dua was 11. Overnight, Dua went from being the Albanian girl who wanted to be called “Amber” to seem more English, to the English girl who spoke Albanian with an accent. That move back to Pristina forged an understanding of her dual identity. “Hearing my aunts’ and my grandma’s and friends’ stories about losing their fathers, their brothers, having them dragged away from their homes in Kosovo—the things that happened to them shook me to the core,” she remembers. The experience of living between two worlds and sometimes feeling like an outsider in both drives the content of Service95. Drag superstar Sasha Velour served as a recent guest editor to provide a history lesson on the gendercomplicating art form. Balmain creative director Olivier Rousteing, who is Black, gay, and adopted, was Dua’s first podcast guest. And the female artists she showcases on the podcast and in the newsletter—rapper Megan Thee Stallion, Afghan DJ Yeldā Ali, Asian American novelist Hanya Yanagihara, whose latest work, To Paradise, Dua counts as one of her favorites—form the backbone of it all. The newsletter staff is majority female, helmed by British Vogue contributing editor Funmi Fetto, who authored Palette: The Beauty Bible for Women of Color. As a large platter of pork ribs, brisket, and cheese-stuffed sausages arrives at our table, Dua recalls her first brush with claiming her own power. “I’ve always had this anger toward the patriarchy,” she says. “I just never liked boys telling me what to do.” That’s easily gleaned from Future Nostalgia’s anti-mansplaining manifesto, “Boys Will Be Boys,” the closest thing to a ballad on a record of wall-towall bangers. Dua recalls a game from her primary school

“I’m trying to bring people together,” Dua says. There’s a cosmic element to sharing songs that make people feel seen or understood”

years in London called kiss-chase. “Boys would start it and chase the girls around the playground, trying to kiss us. So you’re running around and laughing, but it’s a nervous laughter. You don’t really know what’s happening, and you’re supposed to be like, Oh, the boys fancy me. Like it was a game about winning their approval. I hated that.” At around age seven or eight, little Dua turned the tables. “There was a day where I just wasn’t in the mood to run,” she says. “By then I’d learned a tactic. I don’t know how I picked it up, but when a boy would come near me, I’d say, ‘Yeah, come here.’” She wags a finger toward herself in reenactment. “And then I would pinch their shoulders like this”—her orange chrome nails clip together, like talons snatching their prey—“until they fell to their knees. That was the point when I started standing up to boys, and the boys started being scared of me.” Not all of the topics Dua explores through Service95 skew serious. There are more conventional lifestyle features in the newsletter—on jewelry, skin care, and, perhaps Dua’s greatest love, where to eat. At lunch she produces her phone, sheathed in an iridescent pink Rimowa case, to show me the exhaustive lists she’s compiled of favorite restaurants in Tokyo, Lebanon, Nashville, Copenhagen, and Mexico City, to name a few. And yes, she eats. The ribs, with her hands even, noting when little meat bits get stuck under those gleaming nails. Dua’s also a fantastic cook, according to Rina, who says her older sister has taken over Christmas dinner duties, where Dua makes her Yorkshire pudding and everything else from scratch. “I mean, we try to help,” Rina says, in amused resignation. Sharing what she loves with an audience is an old habit that harks back to Dua’s student days, when she returned to London solo, at 15, living with a family friend while enrolled at Parliament Hill, a girls’ secondary and sixth form school in Camden, and, on weekends, the storied Sylvia Young Theatre School. Her teenage blog, called Dua Daily, was a diary of Gen Z adolescence. “I would write about what I was doing after school, what smoothies I was making, or what top I bought from Topshop when Topshop still existed,” she recalls. Instagram now serves as Dua Daily 2.0, where 82 million followers track her comings and goings, though the street fashion of her youth has been replaced by street-cred luxury labels like Coperni and Marine Serre. The fluidity with which she navigates the serious and the trivial, the high and the low, may be a watermark of her generation, but it seems particular to Dua, a polymath who describes herself as “psycho-organized” and has her calendar scheduled down to the minute, including when it’s time for a shower. As we near the end of lunch, Dua steals one more bite of sausage. Her packed schedule for the rest of the day includes rehearsing new choreography that will debut in a week, when Megan Thee Stallion briefly joins the tour to perform their sugar rush of a collaboration, “Sweetest Pie.” Dua’s co-songwriter and dear friend Clarence Coffee Jr. estimates Dua came up with her part of the song in under an hour.

“I wish more people could see how she is as an artist in a room,” Coffee tells me on a recent visit to Los Angeles from London. “She has incredible ideas, she’s a great lyricist, and she’s a beast with melodies.” Megan Thee Stallion—Meg, as she’s known offstage— admits that before recording with Dua, she wasn’t convinced they would click. “When somebody is so gorgeous and established, you don’t know what to expect,” she explains. “A lot of ladies can be divas. But Dua is just so nice. She felt like a familiar spirit. We have an unspoken bond, it’s not even anything we need to discuss. Sometimes people get the wrong idea about me, too. But once you meet me, you’re like, Oh! This is my homegirl.” After Dua plays Houston and strips off her final costume, a custom Mugler bodysuit studded with 120,000 Swarovski crystals, she’ll board a jet to Dallas, where she’ll perform again the next night, but not before delivering the inaugural speech at the opening of Texas’s first Albanian school. (A wellspring for the language and culture, Albanian schools all but disappeared in Kosovo under Milošević’s regime, so their resurgence bears special significance.) As we part, she cheerily agrees to take photos with Truth BBQ’s young pitmaster, Leonard Botello, and the restaurant’s co-owner, Abbie Byrom. Then she hugs me not once, but twice, pressing her forearm into my back to bring me close. Two weeks later in Beverly Hills, on a spring morning shrouded in marine layer, we meet for yoga. While Texas barbecue may have been my home turf, now I’m in the domain of someone whose perfectly executed handstands have their own fan base on Instagram. Before Dua arrives at the studio, her teacher, Annie, a petite Venezuelan hired to ensure that the pop star stays healthy for nine months of touring, spreads two decks of cards, one purple, one turquoise, face down on the floor. These cards—which go by many names, like divination, oracle, mindfulness, affirmation—make regular appearances in Dua’s life. Coffee describes a typical day in the studio: “We bring our oracle cards, we sage, we light the palo santo, we speak to the cosmos. We ask to be vessels for the day. We leave it to what some people would call fate.” London-based model and swimwear designer Sarah Lysander, one of her best friends from Parliament Hill, reveals that Dua’s quite a capable tarot reader herself. “When we’re together, she’ll sit all us girls around and read our cards. We’ll have a cup of tea in her living room, and it’s like she’s the mom reading a story to all her children,” Lysander says. “She’s always been interested in star signs and crystals. I wouldn’t be surprised if she became a mind reader, one day.” Annie tells me that the cards she’s brought to yoga are “messages from the universe to help you set an intention for your practice.” Just then Dua appears, at 9 a.m. on the dot, makeup-free and wearing her long chocolate mane loose and parted in the middle. (The next week, she’ll wear it platinum for the Grammys to pair with her 1992 vintage Versace bondage dress, evoking creative director Donatella.) For our session she’s dressed in black leggings and a matching cropped tank by C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 1 4 0

“A lot of ladies can be divas,” says Megan Thee Stallion. “But Dua is just so nice. She felt like a familiar spirit”

IN CHARGE “I’ve always had this anger toward the patriarchy. I just never liked boys telling me what to do.” Maximilian top. Bottega Veneta pants. Michael Kors Collection shoes.

PRO DUC ED BY AP STU DIOS. S E T DES IGN: S PE NC E R VROO MAN. FU RNITU RE, G RE EN RIV E R PROJ ECT.

FUTURE PERFECT She’s single and content: “The next chapter of my life is about truly being good with being alone.” Chanel Haute Couture dress. ATM tank top. In this story: hair, Evanie Frausto; makeup, Marcelo Gutierrez. Details, see In This Issue.

ALL HAIL “If ever there was a time for me to take on a dude like this,” Gurira says, “it’s probably now.” Schiaparelli Haute Couture dress and earrings. Fashion Editor: Gabriella Karefa-Johnson.

Ruling Class Tyranny and gender are on actor-writer Danai Gurira’s mind as she readies a high-stakes turn as Richard III. Chloe Schama reports. Photographed by Micaiah Carter.

WHEN DANAI GURIRA was 12, growing up in Harare, Zimbabwe, she auditioned before her seventhgrade class for the lead role in a play titled My Uncle Grey Bhonzo. She recited her lines and then, before taking his turn and without explanation, the boy she was up against forfeited. The experience, if not the substance of the play itself, has stayed with her: “All I remember about the play was wearing my father’s suit,” says Gurira, 44. We’re speaking one morning in early March, and she’s sitting in her sun-splashed New York apartment— so bright I had assumed she was in L.A. from my Zoom- distanced vantage—an extensive library behind her. “My father was not a big man, so somehow I guess I fit into it.” I had asked Gurira whether she had ever professionally performed a male role, given her upcoming engagement as Richard III for the Public 87

Theater’s Shakespeare in the Park. She has accumulated a formidable theatrical résumé, as well as many seasons on The Walking Dead, where she played the zombie-slaying warrior Michonne, and a starring part in Black Panther and the forthcoming sequel, Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. (She’s just back from filming Wakanda in Atlanta, in fact, though the only details I can extract from her about that highly anticipated November release relate to her love of the city.) Her answer to the male-role question is no—though this is not necessarily something she laments. “If ever there was a time for me to take on a dude like this, it’s probably now,” she says. (We are speaking as the tragic invasion of Ukraine unfolds, and Vladimir Putin’s brutality hangs over our conversation.) Her understanding of men like Richard—who Shakespeare committed to our historical memory as a twisted, hunchbacked villain and possibly the most evil monarch of all time—has become much stronger and more nuanced. “As you get older, you realize more and more about what toxic masculinity is, and there’s something about getting into it from a female perspective, from my perspective. We’re looking at horrible tyrannical behavior right now. I want to dig into: What is that?” Gurira sees a transformation in her own understanding and approach, but for many who have known her— perhaps even an astute seventh-grade classmate—her talent and dedication have been there all along. The youngest of four children, Gurira was born in Grinnell, Iowa, to academic parents (her father is a just-retired chemist, her mother a librarian), and was raised there until her parents moved to Zimbabwe, where they were originally from, when she was five. “It was a very intimate decision for my parents, particularly for my mother, who had gone back a few years earlier and had seen how her parents were aging. She wanted us to know them before it was too late,” she says. “And Zimbabwe had just become a new nation. There was this burst of new life, a celebration of the country.” Although Zimbabwe was in many ways severing itself from its colonial past, Gurira was educated at an 88

all-girls school that followed the British system. “The Brits—they love to fill you up with their culture,” she says. “Thankfully I liked Shakespeare.” She was athletic—swimming, track, tennis (“wasn’t any good”), and field hockey (“actually pretty good”)—and a sense of the mind-body connection has stayed with her even now: “I have almost too much understanding of how to keep myself healthy.” She still swims and runs, and works with a trainer (the person she blames for her surfeit of knowledge)—the athleticism of The Walking Dead was one of its chief attractions. “I definitely got that wish answered,” she says. In high school, Gurira played Laertes in a production of Hamlet, and studied for her A Levels in English. When it came to college, though, there was no doubt that she would return to the U.S., as her siblings had done before her, for

Richard III is a “villain you want to watch,” says director Robert O’Hara, “and Danai has that in her: She’s incredibly charismatic but incredibly bold” the more open-ended exploration that American higher education offers. She majored in psychology at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota, and has described that period—improvising recipes in the dining hall, hanging out with her then boyfriend in her luxuriously large single room, summoning outrage over political injustice—as “the time of my life.” One quickly gets the sense in speaking with Gurira that she is a performer who thinks and engages deeply with the world. A playwright and screenwriter as well as an actor, she has a passion for elevating Black and African voices, and even—in what seems like her nonexistent free time—is the executive artistic director of Almasi Collaborative Arts, an organization that stages readings, conferences, and other events to promote the dramatic

arts in Zimbabwe. Her current reading includes Maaza Mengiste’s The Shadow King, Yaa Gyasi’s Transcendent Kingdom, Cicely Tyson’s memoir Just as I Am, and Dambisa Moyo’s Dead Aid, an examination of where economic-development funds go wrong—that last book is research for one of her long-simmering writing projects she won’t discuss for fear of jeopardizing the precarious development process for TV and film. (Gurira was adapting Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah for the screen, with Lupita Nyong’o set to star, until the project was scuttled by the pandemic.) “If I was thinking about theater rather than film and television for all these years, I’d probably have written three new plays by now,” she admits. It was as a double-threat playwright and actor that Gurira first gained a foothold in the performing arts. Her debut play, which she performed in and cowrote, In the Continuum, began as a grad school project at New York University that she cocreated with her classmate Nikkole Salter. From there she would write several more, including the Tony-winning Eclipsed, starring Nyong’o—the first work on Broadway to have an entirely Black and female cast, director, and playwright. “The fact that she’s a hybrid, a writer-actor,” says Richard’s director, Robert O’Hara, himself a writerdirector, “is very exciting.” O’Hara first met Gurira when she was still at NYU and was immediately taken with her. “I knew from the very beginning she was special,” he says. The Public Theater’s artistic director, Oskar Eustis, also encountered Gurira through NYU, and was similarly affected: “The world has now seen it on film,” he says. More recently, he’s put her on the Public’s board. “She’s technically my boss. I thought that was the best way of keeping her close.” O’Hara’s process in thinking through Richard III was simple: “It was, How can I work with Danai? I always wanted to get her back to the stage.” The last time Gurira performed in a play, in fact, was in 2011, when she was cast as the virtuous, innocent Isabella in Shakespeare in the Park’s Measure for Measure— “the polar opposite” to Richard, she

P RO DUC E D BY LEON E IOAN NOU AT PON Y PROJ ECTS.

STAGE LEFT Alexander McQueen dress and shoes. Ben-Amun earring. In this story: makeup, Kim Bower. Details, see In This Issue.

says. Richard is a king with a bad reputation and irresistible allure, the protagonist and antagonist at the same time. He’s a “villain you want to watch,” says O’Hara, “and Danai has that in her: She’s incredibly charismatic but incredibly bold. She has a very strong energy that can captivate an audience.” It is early days—far from the start of rehearsals in May—when we speak, but O’Hara already has some idea of where he’d like to push his production. For starters, he will situate it in the late 15th century, the period when the play actually takes place. “Usually it’s performed in Elizabethan costumes,” he points out. “You never really see it set in its own time period.” Despite the temporal specificity, he will invoke contemporary themes, as well: “What speaks to me is what we as a society let men get away with when the rest of the world

is saying, ‘We don’t want to upset him anymore.’ What happens when we genuflect to power?” For all its ambient merriment— there is nothing like an evening of theater in the open-air Delacorte, with the galvanizing threat of summer showers or a stray raccoon wandering across the stage—Shakespeare in the Park has a bit of a reputation for stoking political controversy. Think back no farther than the 2017 production of Julius Caesar, in which the title character was depicted with an undeniable resemblance to Donald Trump, an artistic decision that earned the production the unlikely honor of becoming a Fox News talking point and prompted one protester to storm the stage shouting “Stop the normalization of political violence against the Right!” This time, Eustis, who directed that production of Julius Caesar, self-deprecatingly

assures me the play will be much more subtle. “Robert is a visceral director,” Eustis says. “He’s incredibly smart, but he also creates an emotionally powerful expression.” Whatever geopolitical overtones might hang over this production, there’s no doubt that this Richard III will be, in large part, a showcase for its star. “Danai is one of the greatest we have,” says Eustis, “and a great playwright as well—it’s almost unfair.” Gurira herself seems to have a sense that she’s about to undertake a daunting endeavor—and the confidence that she can make it her own. She’s been busy revisiting some of the classic portrayals of Richard, she says, but not letting them overwhelm her. “I’m a very specific person taking on this guy. I have to rely on all that’s inside of me. You want to acknowledge the greats, but it has to be singular. It has to be your own thing.” @ 89

DATELINE UKRAINE On-the-ground reporting—as empathetic as it is unflinching—has brought the horrors of the Russian invasion to our news feeds. More than ever it is women defining the coverage. By Michelle Ruiz.

sobel Yeung has maintained her composure while reporting on atrocities that some people can hardly stomach. As a Vice News correspondent, the 35-year-old London-based Yeung has covered the child brides and domestic abuse victims of the Yemeni Civil War and the decimation of women’s rights under the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan last year. “It’s possible to detach yourself in those moments,” Yeung says. Sometimes, however, “something cracks and you suddenly find yourself on the edge.” In an immersive report aired in March, Yeung laid bare the horrors in southern Ukraine in the face of a Russian army that has killed civilians and forced more than five million people to flee their homeland. In the southern port city of Mykolaiv, Yeung and a small field crew documented the stream of casualties rushing into a hospital, a chaotic scene of blood and bullet wounds and guttural cries of pain. In a sterile hallway, Yeung met Alexandra Mikhalchenko, a 60-yearold woman wearing a wool hat and coat of matching maroon. Her husband had been closing the balcony window of their home when artillery rained in “from I don’t know where,” Mikhalchenko explained, tearing through his chest. For a moment, “his heart stopped,” she told Yeung, her voice beginning to waver. He lost blood, and fell into a coma. “And now we have to save him somehow,” Mikhalchenko said through tears, “because I can’t live without him.” Yeung recounts this story from her London apartment, sage green walls and fig tree visible in our Zoom along with a mound of laundry that she apologizes for: After nearly a month of reporting in Ukraine, she is home

HEART TO HEART Isobel Yeung, a Vice News correspondent (near left), reporting in Mykolaiv, Ukraine. Photographed by Daniel Vergara.

for a week, trading her down North Face jacket for a soft black-and-white sweater and cat eyeliner. Mikhalchenko’s pure panic, the way she seemed to cling to Yeung, remained unshakably with her. “I normally am quite good at not getting torn up, but she just really reminded me of my grandma,” says Yeung, who was raised in nearby Salisbury, spending time in the Chinese restaurant owned by her British mother and a father who emigrated from Hong Kong. Mikhalchenko was warm and vulnerable. “She’d lived almost her whole life with this man by her side,” Yeung says. She remembers laying a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. “She was holding on to me…and it reminded me of when my grandma lost my granddad. It was devastating.” Mikhalchenko’s grief embodied the raw shock Yeung had observed en masse in Ukraine. 92

She had “lived such a peaceful life up until that moment,” Yeung says. Mikhalchenko was—is—more than a fleeting subject to Yeung. She made it her mission to keep in touch, following up the day before her 22-minute report aired on Vice TV. “She told me that her husband had died,” Yeung says. “She could barely speak.” The news of his death was included in her segment, a choice made to underscore the brutality of the Russian onslaught. “Individuals allow us to empathize,” Yeung says, “in a place that speaks a different language; in a place that can seem so alien to us.” Yeung is one of a diverse group of female correspondents reporting from Ukraine, and it is their in-depth, empathetic, almost impressionistic emphasis on civilian life—the upheavals, the sudden loss of normalcy, and the everyday ways people persist in

BEARING WITNESS above: CNN’s Clarissa Ward in front of a Kyiv apartment building damaged by a missile strike. opposite: NPR’s Leila Fadel in Lviv.

the darkest of circumstances—that has been defining the coverage. This reporting has made the war viscerally present in novel scenes: at funerals and defiantly optimistic weddings, in encounters with children lamenting the pet hamsters they were forced to leave behind. “Women are doing some of the best work, because they’re incredibly brave and intrepid, but also full of humanity and compassion,” CNN chief international correspondent Clarissa Ward, 42, observes from her London living room, where she is taking a break—though still obsessively following the news—after seven weeks leading the network’s coverage from Ukraine. “The contemporary

WARD: PH OTOG RAP HE D BY DEN N IS L APIN/COURTESY O F C NN . FADE L: PHOTOG RAPHE D BY AREZOU RE ZVAN I/N PR.

NPR’s Fadel feels an imperative to tell stories that many people won’t be able to witness themselves. “I think there’s a moral obligation, frankly” form of storytelling that I see resonating is more experiential,” she adds, “getting a sense of what it feels like to see desperation, or to be in that desperate situation yourself.” In a striking dispatch from Kyiv on the first Saturday of March, Ward explained—clear-eyed and seemingly off-script—that the trickle of people behind her were navigating the twisted metal of a broken bridge to flee hard-hit Irpin. They’d left reluctantly, Ward said, not knowing where they were going, or if they’d ever be able to return home. In a moment that ultimately went viral, Ward, wearing a helmet and bulletproof vest, excused herself mid-report to lend a hand to an elderly man, and to help a crying woman carry her bag across the jagged path. It’s a tonal shift from what we’re used to: frontline military reports,

often delivered by a swashbuckling male journalist. “Traditionally, the way we have told [war stories] has been the ‘stand and deliver,’” Ward says, referencing the broadcasts filmed from the edge of combat. She adopts a booming baritone: “Well, Jeff, if you look behind me, you can see the front line…’ ” she trails off. “That doesn’t work anymore,” she adds matter-of-factly. “That’s over.” Ward, who previously spent time embedded with the U.S. military in Iraq, reported from Afghanistan and succeeded Christiane Amanpour at CNN in 2018, says she’s “more interested in capturing what it’s like for people experiencing the fallout.” The New York Times’ Sabrina Tavernise, 51, who covered Iraq and the January 6 U.S. Capitol insurrection, had only just been appointed a new host of the Times’ podcast The

Daily when she felt compelled to travel to Ukraine—a departure for what is usually an in-studio role. In a wrenching episode from early March, Tavernise, speaking fluent Russian, provided an intimate, documentarystyle account of a two-day journey along the slow-moving, unpredictable evacuation route from hard-hit Kyiv to western Lviv, including audio of brushing her teeth alongside children at a kindergarten where she spent a night. She captured audio at a train station packed with refugees headed to Poland, where a seven-year-old boy named Tim confided a secret to Tavernise: He’d pulled out two loose teeth since fleeing Kyiv, where his father remained. “He wanted to talk about his Legos,” Tavernise tells me by phone. “And when I asked him where he was, he said he didn’t know.” Tavernise’s reporting conveyed tragic, overnight disruptions through interviews with women who had fled, many of them mothers with their children, and with office workers and screenwriters and interior designers who described “one day going to the dentist, and the next, being in a dark basement with a stranger,” Tavernise says. “They talked about doing the dishes and looking out the window and seeing tanks.” Before the invasion, at a Georgian restaurant in Kyiv, Tavernise caught up with a group of local friends who hoped against hope, thinking that “it could never happen here,” she recalls. “And then, suddenly, there’s a crack from the sky and life stops.” Explaining the aim of her reporting, Tavernise cites Nobel Prize– winning Belarusian investigative journalist Svetlana Alexievich’s 1991 book, Boys in Zinc (the title refers to the zinc coffins in which fallen soldiers of the Soviet-Afghan War were sent home). Tavernise keeps one of Alexievich’s sentences saved on her laptop; reading it has a way of making her cry. “Alexievich said, ‘I was trying to present a history of feelings, not the history of the war itself.’” As you’d expect, the female reporters I spoke to resisted easy generalizations around gender. “I don’t want to be defined, necessarily, as a female conflict reporter,” Yeung says. “That is, in some ways, too narrow.” At the same time, “I do think 93

EMBEDDED Prize-winning photojournalist Lynsey Addario in a Kyiv bomb shelter in February. Photographed by Mikhail Palinchak.

that it’s really nice not to have to see conflict through a male, macho lens, which is quite often what it slips into.” The nuanced humanitarian coverage from Ukraine is shaped also by “a much greater diversity of people telling stories,” Ward says, pointing, for instance, to more industry-wide inclusion beyond Ukraine, including more Arab American journalists and correspondents of Middle Eastern descent covering that region. “I got into the business because I remember feeling like so much of the coverage of the places that I was living in didn’t reflect people that looked like me or sounded like me

“I believe in this work,” said Addario. “I really believe that photographs and good journalism can change the world” and my family,” said Leila Fadel, 40, host of National Public Radio’s Morning Edition. Like Tavernise, Fadel had been newly appointed to what is often considered an instudio position when she traveled to Ukraine in March. The daughter of an American mother and a Lebanese father who’d immigrated to the U.S., Fadel grew up partly in Saudi Arabia, where her father worked at the oil company Aramco, under the specter of the Gulf War (she remembers carrying a gas mask to school). The Fadels paid summer visits to Beirut, a city in the grip of civil war. “I know from my own experience that people continue to try to be normal,” Fadel says from Washington, still getting her bearings after four weeks in Kyiv and Lviv. Even in wartime, she says, “people want to get married. They want to have parties. All of these things continue to happen.” In a March report from Kyiv, Fadel detailed “a guy walking his dog, somebody riding their bike, people picking up their groceries—and then a building that’s clearly been hit by a missile, with windows for, gosh, a block and a half shattered out.” Through the buzz of electric hair clippers, Fadel ventured inside one of the few still-open C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 1 4 1 95

I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY KNEES

CO LLECTION: HAR RIS SCHO OL OF PU BL IC P OLICY AT THE U NIV ERS ITY O F CH ICAGO. COU RTESY OF THE ARTIST, CORBETT VS. DEM PSEY, C HICAGO ; M AR IA NNE BOESKY GALLE RY, NEW YO RK C ITY A ND ASP EN, JOS H LILLEY GA LLERY, LO NDON. © CE LESTE RAP ONE .

As temperatures and hemlines rise, an oft-overlooked body part steps into the spotlight— and the dermatologist’s office. By Jancee Dunn.

“I HAVE A question,” announces Trinny Woodall. I’m in her suite at the Crosby Street Hotel in SoHo, where we are lounging on a floral couch, busily sampling cosmetics from her namesake line. “You write about beauty,” she says, yanking up her cream-colored, silver-sequined ASOS bell-bottoms to expose her knees. “Can anything be done about this?” She playfully squishes the loose flesh around them. “My knees can have a conversation with each other,” the 58-year-old laments. I vow to investigate—“for the sake of journalism,” I tell her, although admittedly there is a certain level of personal interest. While I try to maintain my limbs with near-daily exercise, I’ve noticed that over the years, the real estate above my knees has grown pouchy, and rife with what I’ve termed “creeping crepe.” Knees are paid little aesthetic attention: Yves Saint Laurent once remarked, bluntly, “I don’t really like knees.” Instead, these hardworking joints are typically appreciated exclusively for function. (Never have I noticed them more than when I was hobbled by runner’s knee a few years ago.) But the skin that surrounds them—which is loose to begin with to allow for proper movement, and can grow ever slacker thanks to wear and tear and gravity—is hard to ignore come summer, when temperatures and hemlines are up, up, up. (Miu Miu’s popular Y2K-era miniskirt now has its own Instagram account.) Knee

rejuvenation doesn’t tend to make it onto self-care priority lists; but that may be because we just haven’t given it much, if any, thought. “Most people don’t know that these treatments exist,” Beverly Hills dermatologist Harold Lancer, MD, says of a host of minimally invasive procedures designed to restore, tone, and smooth this oft-overlooked area. “I think there would be huge interest from the public if they were more aware.” Consider me interested. After a brief winter trip to the Chilean desert left me sweating through heavy trail pants in an effort to conceal my aforementioned crepe, I book into Idriss Dermatology, New York City dermatologist Shereene Idriss, MD,’s new Bryant Park office. “It doesn’t matter how muscular or how skinny you are. After a certain age, they’re going to drop,” the lively 38-year-old deadpans as Dua Lipa’s “IDGAF” plays in the waiting area, explaining that by their mid-40s, her patients reliably start asking about their knees. Once inside a treatment room, Idriss grabs my thighs, pale as cave fish. “Oooh,” she says delightedly. “Your legs have not seen the daylight in a long time!” She inspects the skin. “Address the color first, which nobody thinks about,” she says, pointing out a tangle of spider veins. “Your knees may be as tight as human Spanx, but if your color isn’t uniform, it doesn’t matter.” Idriss suggests sclerotherapy—relatively painless, highly effective injections of saline or other solutions—followed

by a combination of tightening treatments and biostimulatory fillers to help the area generate its own collagen. “My favorite is Ultherapy, which uses ultrasound-energy heat to stimulate muscle contraction and new collagen formation, along with hyperdilute Radiesse, which I find is the most durable,” she says of the specialized filler that creates a rejuvenated appearance around the knee. I poll various doctors for their preferred knee treatments in search of some consensus; all supply different answers. Ashish C. Bhatia, MD, associate professor of clinical dermatology at Northwestern University in Chicago, is keen on the new Secret PRO, a dual-purpose machine that’s both a microneedle radiofrequency device and a fractional CO₂ laser, which stimulates new collagen production and vaporizes old collagen so that the body can regenerate its own. Three monthly treatments yield significant results, he insists, adding that until we had some of these new tools, which have recently been applied to the knees, there wasn’t much we could do. “People would just stop wearing shorts and skirts,” he says—which is exactly what happened to Evee Georgiadis. Georgiadis, 58, was ultimately compelled to visit Macrene Alexiades, MD, who practices in Manhattan and the Hamptons and who uses Profound, a radio-frequency microneedling device she has both studied and written about, specifically in two publications that directly addressed the knees. “You need a strong constitution because there may be bruising, but a single treatment works really well on laxity and fat deposits,” Alexiades tells me. Georgiadis confirms as much. “I will say that Profound is not fun. It hurts, even though Macrene numbed me,” she admits. “But it’s so worth it. I have the legs that I did in my late 30s. It’s mind-blowing. The laxity is way, way less. I’m wearing shorts again for the first time in 20 years.” C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 1 4 3 BEND AND FLEX From smoothing fillers to tightening devices, targeted treatments are elevating the appearance of our legs’ hardest-working joints. Dilemma, by Celeste Rapone.

In Deep

Model Tindi Mar has always felt a profound connection to the natural world. Captured in her intentional eco-community near Guadalajara, Mexico, she forages and frolics in (and out of) clothes made with similar thought and care. Photographed by Santiago Sierra Soler.

SOAK IT UP In Los Guayabos, the Edenic ecological community where 28-year-old Tindi Mar lives, the sun, moon, and stars are the only streetlights. “I love living here because we’re leading by example,” she says. Fashion Editor: Tonne Goodman. Sittings Editor: Valentina Collado.

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SOMETHING WILD Los Guayabos was established by six intrepid families just over 40 years ago. “It’s easier to achieve change and to come up with solutions together, collectively,” says Mar—here with her faithful husky, Lana— describing its hardy and principled ethos. Organic cotton dress from Tove; tovestudio.com. Gabriela Hearst shoes.

ROCK STEADY When she began taking modeling seriously two years ago, Mar wasn’t sure what kind of characters she’d meet. Happily, she found that “there are so many people who want to do things differently, so many creatives with so much love to share.” Mara Hoffman briefs; marahoffman.com.

FLORAL NOTES As a beautifully embroidered Bode jacket (bodenew york.com for similar styles) proves, nothing cheers the spirit quite like a bit of flower power.

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TAKE YOUR PICK A student of community nutrition, Mar grows her own food in Los Guayabos— naturally. “The iron in our blood, the sulfur in our nails, the calcium in our bones,” she says, “all this is given from the ground.” Chloé dress; chloe.com.

SIMPLE PLEASURES Mar gathers her rosebuds in a Collina Strada dress spun—ingeniously—from the waste of rose bushes and stems; collinastrada.com. above: Gabriela Hearst dress; gabrielahearst.com.

A DELICATE BALANCE Bode shirt; bodenewyork .com for similar styles. Dolce & Gabbana shorts; dolcegabbana.com. center left: Zero + Maria Cornejo top; zeromariacornejo.com. Marine Serre necklace. In this story: hair, Octavio Leon. Details, see In This Issue. Interview by Atenea Morales.

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P RODUCED BY LU DOVI CA QUARATESI.

Model Behavior Backstage, between fittings, between shows, or entirely off-duty: What really happens on the other side of the camera during Paris Fashion Week? Photographed by Jack Day.

HANG TIME from far left: Bella Hadid wears Louis Vuitton pants and shoes. Gigi Hadid wears Gucci pants. Mona Tougaard wears a Chanel cardigan. Paco Rabanne pants. Vittoria Ceretti wears a Miu Miu jacket. Anok Yai in Balenciaga. Fashion Editors: Gabriella Karefa-Johnson and Jack Borkett.

INCOGNITO MODE Adut Akech peels off in an Alaïa bodysuit, a heavy-duty carryall, and sunglasses, both from Balenciaga. Lorette Colé Duprat earrings.

“The relationships I’ve created help me stay grounded, because they go beyond just fashion and working together— these people are my extended family” —ADUT AKECH

“This season felt surreal to me— almost overwhelming at times, but I’ve been dreaming of walking in these shows since I was 16” —SHERRY SHI

PERFECT MATCH As Sherry Shi proves, shrewd experiments with proportion can lend polished separates a touch of off-the-cuff flair. Prada jacket. Bottega Veneta dress as a sweater. Blumarine skirt. Givenchy boots.

TOP LE FT: COU RTESY O F MON A TOUGAARD. TO P RIG HT: COU RTESY OF AN O K YAI ; BOTTO M IMAG ES: COU RT ESY O F KEN DAL L J EN N E R .

IN THEIR SIGHTS clockwise from above: Ceretti and the Hadid sisters in repose; Yai, in a dress from The Row and a jaunty Polo Ralph Lauren cap; Kendall Jenner’s captive Parisian audience; Jenner snaps a cheeky selfie.

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ON A HIGH Jenner makes one very sharp shooter in her billowing Marc Jacobs jacket and skirt.

LAY IT ON HER Kaia Gerber ratchets the backstage volume (and the color!) way up in a Michael Kors Collection dress and scarf. Simone Rocha skirt. Versace boots.

TWO FOR THE ROAD Tougaard ably finds her angle in a blazer from The Row. Gucci shoes. Yai wears Hermès pants. Balenciaga bag.

“What keeps me going? Lots of self-love, dinner with a friend, writing my feelings down—and a massage”

—MONA TOUGAARD

“Good models have a sense of how to carry any style—I think that’s why we shoot each other well and why we have so much fun. There’s a flow, and there’s power in the photographer understanding what it’s like to be in front of the lens, and vice versa” —GIGI HADID

POINT AND CLICK How’s this for an elevated game of dress-up? Gigi Hadid brings the drama to wardrobe in Bottega Veneta, while Sora Choi flaunts an Off-White top, skirt, and bag. Amina Muaddi shoe.

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IN THE HOT SEAT Bella Hadid puts her best face forward in a slinky, shimmery Giorgio Armani top. Balenciaga pants, briefs, and belt. Miu Miu shoes.

CUT IT OUT There’s nothing like jeans and a tank—no matter which way you slice them. Ceretti demonstrates as much in a Loewe top and pants. Bottega Veneta shoes.

“I love the rush of the shows—the adrenaline running from one show to another, or when you’re just about to go out on the runway” —VITTORIA CERETTI

CREATIVE COLLABORATION At the bustling Schiaparelli atelier—that’s the house’s artistic director, Daniel Roseberry, at far right—Paloma Elsesser turns a charming look in a Chanel cardigan and necklace (as a belt). Levi’s jeans. Abra shoes.

“People are more invested in my story now, but it has taken me a long time to get comfortable speaking with my more curve-specific voice” —PALOMA ELSESSER

TOP LE FT: COU RTESY O F S HE RRY S HI. MIDDL E LE FT: COU RTESY O F SORA CH OI; BOTTOM LE FT: COU RT ESY O F PALOMA E LSESSE R. TOP RIGHT: COURTESY OF MON A TOUGAARD. BOTTOM RIG HT: COURTESY OF VITTORIA CE R ETT I.

MAKING FUN clockwise from above: Tougaard with model Alton Mason; Ceretti in transit; Elsesser strikes a pose; Choi with actor and model Hoyeon Jung; Shi takes a seat.

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THE LONG HAUL Choi gets her steps in wearing a natty Polo Ralph Lauren wool tank and shirt. Dior shorts. Abra boots. Rimowa trunk.

“The first thing I do after a long day of shows? Nothing. I call it ‘recovery mode’” —SORA CHOI

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NEED A LIFT? Bella Hadid wears an Alexander McQueen blazer. Gucci T-shirt, leggings, and hat. Versace shoes. Ceretti wears a Loewe bra top, leggings, and shoes. Hermès jacket. In this story: hair, Joseph Pujalte; makeup, Kanako Takase for Addiction Beauty. Details, see In This Issue.

TOP HAT Amid soft yellow sands and crisp white cotton, a single boldly printed Tory Burch bucket hat (toryburch.com) strikes a perfectly dreamy note. Photographed by Delali Ayivi.

Kick off your summer with light, bright accessories made

C REATIV E PRO DUCTIO N AN D CASTING : MALAIKA BY N ABILLAH. PHOTO ASSI STAN T: NE IL KWES I BAK AR.

New

Horizons

for soaking up some sun—from fetching hats and woven bags to fanciful footwear.

BREAK IT UP That’s no glitch: The color story for these tiered Hermès handbags (hermes.com) really is that shocking— and that chic. Photographed by Guanyu Xu.

HOT TIP A two-toned tote from Loewe (select Loewe boutiques) is just the right size for stashing sunscreen, sunglasses, a book, some water…you get the gist. Now, a la playa! Photographed by Andrew Nuding.

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CHECK, PLEASE Between its elegant silhouette and lively motif, this Louis Vuitton bag (louisvuitton.com) is a little Palm Beach, a little South Beach. Photographed by Leonard Suryajaya.

HIGH AND MIGHTY The humble summer sandal from Brother Vellies (brothervellies .com) comes with a major wedge heel— and a certain spirit of adventure. Photographed by Delali Ayivi.

DREAMING IN COLOR Why waste your time trying to pick shades? This tasseled bag from Chloé (chloe .com) has something for everybody— and everything for somebody. Photographed by Leonard Suryajaya.

THE SWIM OF THINGS Talk about a vantage point! Take in the surf—and perhaps a quick nap—with a Dior chaise and matching shoes; Dior boutiques. Photographed by Sarah Leïla Payan.

ON THE ROCKS What could possibly pair better with a pale sky and placid sea than a woven Bottega Veneta bucket bag (bottegaveneta .com) in the most brilliant shade of green? Photographed by Siena Saba.

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BAY WATCH Set against a sweetly sun-kissed scene, a pair of artfully mismatched sandals from Dolce & Gabbana (dolcegabbana .com) seems even more charming. Photographed by Olivia Galli.

PIER REVIEW Take this as a sign to dress up your beachy Breton stripes with something a bit more jaunty—this plaid pink pocketbook from Chanel (select Chanel boutiques), for instance. Photographed by Andrew Nuding.

BRIGHT IDEAS On a humdrum summer’s day, a breezy hat and bag from Prada (prada.com) make for cheerful traveling companions. Details, see In This Issue. Photographed by Sarah Leïla Payan.

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The Get

Fun and Games Ease into summertime with a few swimsuit to an elegant bocce set. 136

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PRO DUCTS : COURTESY O F BRAN DS/WE BSITES.

HAILEY BIE BE R: H UGO COMTE , VOGUE , 2021 .

TOP, $1,380; MISSONI.COM. 3. DUNE SUNCARE, $28; DUNESUNCARE.COM. 4. SAINT LAURENT RIVE DROITE TIFFANY & CO. PLAYING CARDS, $150; TIFFANY.COM. 6. FENDI FLASK HOLDER AND WATER BOTTLE, $890; FENDI.COM. 7. CASABLANCA HAT, $365; CASABLANCAPARIS.COM. 8. BRUNELLO CUCINELLI BOCCE SET; SHOP.BRUNELLOCUCINELLI.COM. 9. HERMÈS REBECCA TAYLOR X FISCH DELE WEDS DESTINY BY TOMI OBARO, $27; PENGUINRANDOMHOUSE GUCCI DICE SET, $430; GUCCI.COM. 13. VALENTINO GARAVANI TOTE BAG; VALENTINO BOUTIQUES. SHOP THE ISSUE ONLINE AT VOGUE.COM/SHOPPING

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THE UNTHINKABLE

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 48

The last few times I’d been in Moscow there had been a ton of construction in the city center, but now, everywhere I went, it had stopped. Moscow was finished. Every façade had been restored, every sidewalk trimmed, every subway station cleaned to within an inch of its life. The theaters were all open, putting on every Chekhov play imaginable. Would my mother have liked it, or hated it? I don’t know. It had lost some of its spirit, its soul, when it gained all that oil money. But perhaps that was worth it. And as I walked to dinner at the home of a Russian journalist friend, I saw that the area around my old college, where Anya and I had once wandered in the cold, looking for somewhere to sit and drink a cup of cofee, was overflowing with cafés, little restaurants, cute little places to sit and chat and eat a cabbage pie. I was afraid of going with Raffi to this place? This land of cozy cafés? Everyone I talked to told me that the screws were tightening; that the space for political expression was narrowing; that things were not looking up. But they also told me that there was no way there was going to be a war. In the book-lined apartment of my friend, he said that a small war might be possible, but a real war was unthinkable. It was one thing to bomb Grozny, he said; one thing to bomb Aleppo. But to bomb Kharkiv and Kyiv? That was what the Nazis had done. That was something Russia would never do. I wasn’t sure that he was right. My sources in American expert circles were very worried about an invasion. But as it was unthinkable to my Russian friends, so it became unthinkable to me. I talked with another friend about potentially sharing a nanny in Moscow for a week or two this summer. Our kids were the same age. And as long as there was no war—as long as Russia did not send tanks and missiles and artillery fire over the border, as long as people were not dying senselessly, some of them helplessly, for the simple crime of wanting to live in their homes— as long as none of that happened, it seemed like visiting Moscow would be a nice thing to do. @

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CHANGE AGENTS

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for treatment. “She said, ‘It’s just menopause, you’ll get through it,’” London recalls. The experience compelled her to

Puma, a brand for which she’s issued two Y2K-inspired capsules. There’s a hug for each of us—Dua’s a hugger, which she ascribes to being

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 72

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join State Of, a skin- and body-care line that she became the CEO of in 2021, which aims to give the menopause transition a makeover, one cheerily packaged tube of joint cream at a time. It’s the venture capital community— not the medical community—that is causing what Javaid describes as a “huge revolution” in an untapped market worth an estimated $600 billion. In April, Jackson’s Evernow raised $28.5 million in an initial round of funding led by venture capital firm New Enterprise Associates as well as Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz, Gwyneth Paltrow, and former U.S. Women’s National Team captain Abby Wambach. Jackson also claims to have amassed the most extensive database—more than 100,000 women, tracked over two years—on perimenopause symptoms. “The fact that I, as a private venture-funded company, am going to have the largest study of perimenopausal women should raise alarm bells,” she says, adding that for many doctors the financial incentives for treating women during perimenopause just isn’t there. “The medical system is structured to reward doctors financially for focusing on fertility and gynecological surgeries,” says Jackson; managing menopause symptoms, she suggests, simply requires more handson attention. It’s another reason why so many of these new brands and platforms are not just focused on targeting symptoms, but also on building community, which was a huge motivating factor for Watts. “You always need to have those points where you share information,” she says, previewing her goal to create a space that encourages experience sharing—and divulging that she didn’t get guidance from her mother around the menopause transition because her mother had never received it from her own mother. “We’re at a point in time, with this generation, where we can finally demand answers,” adds Watts, 53—who, for the record, feels better than ever. “I can tell you, not only do you have desire, you are still desirable,” she says, shattering the fallacy of asexuality that surrounds the one third of our lives spent post-menopause. “And when a woman knows what she wants, there’s nothing more desirable than that.” @

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Albanian—before we’re instructed to pull one card from each deck. Though Dua in yoga clothes is the most dressed down I’ve seen her, her nails are still show-ready: stiletto talons painted pink, coral, and silver in a kaleidoscopic Pucci pattern. She waves her psychedelic manicure back and forth over the cards as though reading their energy with her fingertips. Once she’s made her choices, she flips them over. “The way you see the world is the reflection of what you have built in your life,” she intones, reading the first card in that old-soul husk that belies her youth. “Think about what hurts you the most and heal it. You have that power.” The single word printed on her other card leaps of its face: rebirth. We’re two years minus a day from the release of Future Nostalgia, Dua notes, after we finish our 45-minute vinyasa class. The album’s continued popularity has made her the female artist with the most tracks streamed over a billion times on Spotify this year. Once we’ve repaired to the rooftop lounge outside the studio, where the morning fog has burned of to reveal a bright, hot sun, I ask Dua if she ever gets sick of these songs or feels as if she’s outgrown them. She considers my question. “For two years we were frozen. I didn’t get to really do these songs in the way that I’d envisioned them, and now that I’ve been able to put a show around it, it feels new to me,” she explains. “But there are also ways I feel I’m sonically moving on a little bit. Especially now that I’ve started writing again and working on new music.” She estimates that her next album is half-written, and while she doesn’t clarify if or how her third album will depart from her previous work, she says this: “I’ve definitely grown up. Overall, whether it’s sonically or in terms of the themes, I’ve matured. It’s like I’m coming into my power and not afraid to talk about things. It’s about understanding what I want.” And what Dua wants right now is Dua. Single and content to be so, she says, “The next chapter of my life is about truly being good with being alone.” For the second installment of Service95, she took herself out on a date to New York’s Cosme and wrote about it. “Some people on the internet were like, ‘Oh, Dua went out for dinner on her own, blah blah, I do this all the time.’ And I think that’s amazing if you do it all the time. You must be so confident. But it was a big step for me. I was nervous—like, what am I gonna do? I don’t want to be on my phone.”

Her next planned solo adventure is to go to the movies. “I want to know I can just be there for myself, you know?” “Right,” I answer. “And not have it be like, This sad woman—” “Out on her own or whatever, and—” “She doesn’t have—” “A man,” Dua concludes. “Yeah. Fuck that.” @

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beauty salons, where a woman, Exsinya Kojushko, shared her guilt over having her hair done. “I don’t think of myself as a war reporter,” says Fadel, who previously served as NPR’s international correspondent based in Cairo. “I just cover people…sometimes that means they’re living through some of the most traumatic things that you can imagine, and that can be anywhere,” she says. “It’s becoming clear that there isn’t one part of the world where conflict is endemic.” Fadel was struck by the particular brand of shock that war would erupt in Europe, and the accordant idea that Ukraine might prompt more global empathy because it seemed more racially and culturally familiar to the Western world. “There should be an outpouring of compassion and shock over tragedy, always,” Fadel says. “This idea that war is so new to the modern era? No, it’s not.” You Don’t Belong Here is the blunt title of author Elizabeth Becker’s 2021 account of three trailblazing female correspondents in the Vietnam War (Becker herself began her career reporting on the Cambodian Civil War in the 1970s). “The Vietnam press corps was a male bastion that women entered only at the risk of being humiliated and patronized,” reads her epigraph, a quote from the Associated Press correspondent Peter Arnett. “The prevailing view was that the war was being fought by men against men and women had no place there.” When author Janine di Giovanni started out as a young foreign correspondent in the 1990s, “there were very, very few women in the field,” she says. “The men were much older than me, much more experienced, and really went out of their way to make me feel that I didn’t know what I was doing.” Di Giovanni, who is now directing a project documenting and verifying war crimes in Ukraine called Enabling Witnesses, remembers suffering “overt sexual harassment,” including “foreign

editors telling me disgusting things over the phone.” More women broke into the profession over the ensuing decades (though behind-the-camera roles are still male-dominated and women are still outnumbered in many foreign bureaus, Ward tells me). In Iraq between 2003 and 2007, “I was the only woman in the Baghdad bureau for pretty much that entire time,” Tavernise says. She didn’t attempt to compete with reporters embedded with troops. Instead, she set out to “be in as many living rooms of Iraqis” as possible, a sector of coverage seen as “backwater,” as she describes it. But her time immersed with Iraqis, hearing directly about entire blocks of men being killed in sectarian fighting, meant she gained an earlier understanding of the burgeoning civil war than many of her male colleagues did. “I think, actually, I got to where the war was going ahead of them,” Tavernise says. Military coverage can still seem like the gold standard. A day after Ward’s viral dispatch on CNN, the Kyiv side of the same bridge where she stood—a known evacuation point for civilians— was attacked by a Russian mortar, killing Tetiana Perebyinis, a 43-year-old Ukrainian mother and accountant; her two children, Mykyta, 18, and Alisa, 9; and 26-year-old Anatoly Berezhnyi, a church volunteer helping the family flee. Photojournalist Lynsey Addario, who had been huddled behind a cement wall, was sprayed with gravel in the blast, wondering at first if she’d been hit by shrapnel. The mortar had landed between Addario and the family. “It could have been me as much as it was them,” Addario, 48, says from London, during a brief hiatus at home after six weeks in Ukraine. Addario hurriedly photographed the fallen as she fled the scene, not knowing whether the pictures were even in focus. The grim images of four lives cut short—lying among their luggage, the children’s backpacks still strapped on—landed on the front page of The New York Times, providing searing evidence that, despite its denials, Russia was flouting even the flimsiest rules of engagement and transgressing into war crimes. Still, Addario, a winner of the 2009 Pulitzer Prize, self-flagellated. “I have been beating myself up for the last two months about the photos that I haven’t been getting, the fact that I wasn’t doing more frontline stuff, more soldiers shooting their guns, more smoke and fire and destroyed buildings,” she says. “I kept feeling like, Oh, my

coverage isn’t good enough. It’s not tough enough…but in lieu of that, I focus on the things that I, as a woman and a mother and a human being, am drawn to.” (Addario is the mother of two sons, Lukas, 10, and Alfred, 3, with her husband, former Reuters journalist Paul de Bendern.) In April, Addario detailed the crisis conditions for pregnant women, some huddled in a makeshift underground maternity ward, others so stressed they were going into premature labor: “Giving birth is difficult in the best of times,” she says. “Imagine what it’s like to have to go down into a basement shelter with your two-hour-old baby and try to find a breast pump that’s not available in any pharmacy.” In a story close to her heart, Addario photographed 19 babies born to surrogates—as Addario’s younger son had been—lying on cheerful blankets in a Kyiv basement, being kept alive by nannies who refused to leave them. That the babies’ biological parents were unable to reach them— “I can’t even get my head around that,” Addario says, recalling her own family’s experience with a surrogate in Utah with whom they are still in contact. Addario and de Bendern had been in the delivery room. “We were so lucky,” she tells me. Motherhood changes the stakes for women covering conflict zones—even as Addario resents the double standard of being asked about her family more often than fathers are. “The notion that I might die is a completely integral part of me going on assignment,” she says, pointing to the five journalists killed in the first month of the Ukrainian war alone. Among them was Fox News cameraman Pierre Zakrzewski, whose death “shatters the illusion that you can do this in a sensible way and not get hurt,” says Ward, a longtime friend. “With every assignment I take, I wonder if I’ll come home,” says Addario. “It’s not like it didn’t matter before I had children, but with my husband, I thought, Okay, he’ll just remarry. But you can’t have another mother.” Ward wrestled with a heightened sense of risk when she first had her boys, four-year-old Ezra and twoyear-old Caspar, with her husband, fund manager Philipp von Bernstorff. She fielded “more than a whiff of casual misogyny,” she remembers— suggestions that she’d stop traveling to war zones in favor of an in-studio position. Ward has since come to believe that motherhood adds dimension to 141

her reporting. “Maybe we need to have more mothers covering war,” she says. “I really believe that when you do it as a mother, you have a sense of responsibility to mothers in war zones. I think it’s great to have mothers and fathers covering war.” Addario is more cautious now, more calculated with her decisions, but “I’ll never be that kind of mother that society tells us we need to be,” she says. For Addario, “I feel like it’s harder, almost, to be a mother than it is to be on assignment on a story like Ukraine, because that’s where my whole life was, on stories like that, before I decided to have a family. I’m very comfortable and very happy when I’m on assignment. When I come home, I have to get to know my kids again.” Six weeks away from her three-year-old feels like a particularly long stretch. “I have to ask the nanny, ‘What does he like now? What is he doing?’ ” Addario says it breaks her heart to observe that her 10-year-old hardly asks questions about her work, perhaps not wanting to know details as a form of self-protection. “I sometimes describe coming home as going through a time machine. You’re getting sucked into the atmosphere of a different planet,” says Tavernise. “You tend to have this dazed feeling back in America,” the whiplash of arriving in a city “where everybody’s

walking around drinking espresso.” Returning to a comfortable life after witnessing such horrors as bodies piled in the hallways of a Ukrainian morgue “is the weirdest part of this job,” Yeung agrees. Her fiancé, journalist and documentary filmmaker Benjamin Zand, “says I’m always a very strange person when I come back.” At home in London, Yeung felt “consumed with guilt,” she says—for the privilege of being able to leave the war, for worrying her family and for not being able to look away from the story and stop refreshing her news feeds. “It’s hard to be in both worlds, and my therapist would say that I need to try to be in the world that I’m in at the moment,” Yeung says, shaking her head. Ward makes a point of speaking publicly about the mental-health toll of conflict reporting and the fact that she sees a therapist. “It’s still a taboo in this industry, because there is a lot of bravado and macho culture,” she says. She tells younger war correspondents: “Not only is it not shameful in any way to talk to someone, it’s actually something that should be mandatory.” Yeung’s own trauma is evident: She frequently “jumps out of my skin” at loud noises, like the trash collector slamming bins. But “it’s not necessarily just that you are up all night dreaming of bodies,” she says. “It’s also that you become detached from what your life

In This Issue Table of Contents: 25: Hat; toryburch.com. Cover Look: 25: Dress, top, and shorts; prada.com. Editor’s Letter: 30: Top and sash; judy-turner.com. Dress; givenchy.com. Proenza Schouler shoes; proenza schouler.com. Green River Project chair. Manicurist: Gina Edwards. Tailor: Cha Cha Zutic.

THE REBIRTH OF DUA LIPA

76: Dress; connerives .com for information. 78: Dress; ysl.com. The Row tank top;

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net-a-porter.com. Necklace; bvlgari.com for information. Green River Project chair. 79: Suit; therow.com. Shoes; michaelkors .com. 80: Jacket and pants; chloe.com. Shoes; church-footwear .com 81: Dress; khaite.com. Skin bra top and briefs; neta-porter.com. Shoes; proenzaschouler.com. 84: Top; maximilian.it. Pants; bottega veneta.com. Shoes; michaelkors.com. 85: Dress; (800) 5500005 for information. Tank top; net-a-porter .com. Green River

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is, and so then you become irritable and it affects your relationships.” Many of Yeung’s peers from university are married with children. Yeung’s frequent travels complicate the notion of those milestones. “I don’t know how I would do this job with kids, and that’s a conversation that I have a lot with my boyfriend,” she says. “He’s a journalist, but he also needs me to be around in order to service that relationship, and I think he struggles with that a lot.” During her six weeks in Ukraine, Addario repeatedly insisted that she was fine when friends from all phases of her life texted her with the same loaded question: “Are you okay?” The minute she crossed into Poland and texted de Bendern that she was safe, “I burst into tears,” Addario recalls. “I could not stop crying.” It was the release of six weeks of bottled stress and fear. “I didn’t know if I would survive, you know?” At home, she couldn’t bear to look at her photograph of the slain family at the Kyiv bridge. She bristled at the violence in the Swedish TV series her husband was watching. “I can’t listen to violence when I’m not in violence.” The work becomes a bridge between two realities. “I think there’s a moral obligation, frankly,” says Fadel, an imperative to tell stories that many people won’t be able to witness themselves. Outsiders often look at them

Project chair. Manicurist: Gina Edwards. Tailor: Cha Cha Zutic.

shoes; gabrielahearst .com. Remigio Mestas Revilla textile.

RULING CLASS

MODEL BEHAVIOR

86: Dress and earrings; Maison Schiaparelli, 21 place Vendôme, Paris. Alexander McQueen shoes; alexander mcqueen.com. 89: Dress and shoes; alexandermcqueen .com. Earring; ben-amun.com. Manicurist: Megumi. Tailor: Cassady Rose Bonjo.

IN DEEP

100–101: Shoes; gabrielahearst.com. 103: Mara Hoffman briefs; marahoffman .com. 106–107: Left, center: Necklace; marineserre.com. Right image: Gabriela Hearst

108–109: On Bella: Gucci vest; gucci.com. Pants and shoes; louisvuitton.com. On Gigi: Paco Rabanne top; neimanmarcus .com. Pants; gucci.com. Abra shoes; abra.paris. On Tougaard: Cardigan; Chanel boutiques. Pants; pacorabanne .com. Gucci shoes; gucci.com. On Ceretti: Jacket; miumiu.com. Loewe bra top; loewe .com. Givenchy pants; givenchy.com. On Yai: Top, pants, briefs, and belt; balenciaga .com. Area shoes; area.nyc. 110: Bodysuit; maison-alaia.com. Bag and sunglasses;

balenciaga.com. Michael Kors Collection boots; michaelkors .com. Earrings; ssense.com. 111: Jacket; prada.com. Dress as a sweater; bottegaveneta .com. Dior shirt; select Dior boutiques. Skirt; blumarine.com. Boots; givenchy.com. 112: Bottom right photo: Dress; therow.com. Cap and shoes; ralphlauren .com. 113: Jacket and skirt; bergdorfgoodman .com. Re/done tank top; shopredone.com. 114: Dress and scarf; michaelkors.com. Skirt; simonerocha.com. Boots; versace.com. 115: On Tougaard: Blazer; therow.com. Chanel cardigan; Chanel boutiques. Paco Rabanne pants; pacorabanne.com.

A WOR D A BOUT D I SCOUN TERS W HILE VO GUE TH OROUGH LY RESE ARC HES T HE COM PAN IES MENTIONED IN ITS PAGES, WE CANNOT GUARANTEE THE AUTHENTICITY OF MERCHANDISE SOLD BY DISCOUNTERS. AS IS ALWAYS THE CASE IN PURCHASING AN ITEM FROM ANYWHERE OTHER THAN THE AUTHORIZED STORE, THE BUYER TAKES A RISK AND SHOULD USE CAUTION WHEN DOING SO.

with morbid fascination, but Addario says there is nothing twisted in her past that led her here. She notes with a laugh that she is the daughter of hairdressers from the comfortable suburb of Westport, Connecticut. “I don’t think of it at all as this crazy, brave profession,” she says. “I believe in this work. I really believe that photographs and good journalism can change the world.” The women on the ground in Ukraine are determined to keep audiences engaged even in an ever-churning news cycle. “People always connect with the human condition,” Fadel says. “What do you do about sanitary products and how do you get groceries? As long as you can help people connect to an individual or a family, I think that people care.” When I ask Tavernise if she’ll be traveling back to Ukraine, she doesn’t hesitate: “I hope to.” As for Yeung, she hadn’t told her mother yet, but the day after our Zoom call, she was heading back to Ukraine—to the southeastern city of Zaporizhzhia, where refugees are fleeing from the devastation in Mariupol. She wanted to focus on the children displaced, their futures uprooted. “Maybe it’s the grandiose idealism of the job, but I think it’s worth it,” Yeung says—worth the risk and the fear. “Providing depth and humanity to this war is valuable.” @

Balenciaga sunglasses; balenciaga.com. Shoes; gucci.com. On Yai: The Row dress; therow.com. Pants; hermes.com for information. Polo Ralph Lauren cap and shoes; ralphlauren .com. Bag; balenciaga .com.116–117: On Gigi: Dress, bra top, briefs; gloves and boots; bottegaveneta.com. Off-White sunglasses; off---white.com for

I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY KNEES

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 97

Lancer likes PlasmaSculpt, a blend of Sculptra (a collagen-stimulating injectable volume replacement) and the patient’s own blood plasma, “because it allows for artistic mixing, and you totally avoid the potential for irregularity or lumpiness,” he explains, recommending two to three treatments for optimal results. Intrigued as I am by the idea of artistically mixing my own blood into a skin-smoothing, tightening concoction, I settle on a compelling new device called Sofwave finessed by New York–based dermatologist Blair Murphy-Rose, MD. Sofwave, Murphy-Rose tells me when we meet in her Midtown office, is a noninvasive, no-downtime ultrasound device that reaches a noteworthy 1.5 millimeters deep. “It coagulates the tissue, which causes an immediate tightening of fibers, and then very powerfully stimulates collagen and elastin production, which we lose at an estimated 1 percent a year,” she explains while numbing above my knee for 45 minutes, and then wielding the long and narrow handpiece in targeted strokes. Results peak at six to eight months, Murphy-Rose goes on, but if I’m pleased with the $3,000 session, I may never need another. Thirty minutes later, I hop off the chair, slightly pink but pain-free. After two months, I can report that the vicinity around my knees is

information. On Choi: Top, skirt, and bag; off---white.com for information. Shoes; aminamuaddi.com. 118: Top; armani.com. Pants, briefs, and belt; balenciaga.com. Shoes; miumiu.com. 119: Top (loewe.com) and pants (Loewe boutiques). Shoes; bottegaveneta .com. 120: Cardigan and necklace as a belt; Chanel boutiques.

Jeans; levi.com. Shoes; abra.paris. 122: Wool tank and shirt; ralph lauren.com. Shorts; select Dior boutiques. Boots; abra.paris. Trunk; rimowa.com. 123: On Bella: Blazer; alexandermcqueen .com. T-shirt, leggings, and hat; gucci.com. Shoes; versace.com. On Ceretti: bra top, shoes (loewe.com), leggings (Loewe

markedly tighter and smoother. My crepe is on the wane, too—and my color is nearly uniform (per Idriss’s advice, I booked a sclerotherapy appointment with Rosemarie Ingleton, MD, who had previously worked wonders on my below-the-knee veins). And much to my own shock, I have also begun applying retinols—which boost skin-cell turnover and growth, and are more commonly applied to the face—to my knees, which has made a clear difference. “Skin care has always been about the face, neck, and chest, but body is the next frontier,” confirms Idriss, who often counsels her patients to add their favorite face retinol to body lotion (her preferred cocktail is Aveeno body lotion with a few pumps of L’Oréal Revitalift Derm Intensives 0.3 % pure retinol). But I saw the most dramatic results with Alastin’s TransFORM Body Treatment, a creamy salve that is packed with retexturizing, elastin-boosting peptides and designed to target specific areas as a companion to in-office procedures; it made the skin above my knees velvety smooth, something I never thought I’d be so diligent about maintaining. Speaking of, there is one more step pretty much every expert I speak with insists is necessary if I want to continue seeing the results of my Sofwave treatment: wear sunscreen—which I fully intend on doing all summer long, knees exposed, wide-brimmed-hat-clad head held high. @

boutiques). Jacket; hermes.com for information. Tailor: Robbie van Mierlo.

THE GET

CONDÉ NAST IS COMMITTED TO GLOBAL ENVIRONMENTAL SUSTAINABILITY. SCAN HERE FOR DETAILS.

136–137: 1. Necklace, $2,850. 2. Surfboard, $7,000. 8. Bocce set, $2,550. 13. Bag, $2,690.

LAST LOOK

144: Shoes and bag; gucci.com.

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Last Look

Adidas x Gucci shoes and bag In a moment when luxury-athleticwear collaborations have reached a fever pitch, the new meeting of minds between Adidas and Gucci is sure to cause a fashionable fuss. A couple of pieces from the collection give one a sense of the scope—from a multicolor leather duffel bound for It bag status to a mule that fuses each label’s signature (the trefoil logo and the horse bit) in a way that adds shine to both. Isn’t that the best kind of statement accessory? P H OTO G RA P H E D BY O L I V I A GA L L I

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